


Window Learning (Yearning)

by MissLouisa



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Scott is a sculptor, Stiles is a PhD student, Teacher/Student - sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-03-07 11:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 33,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3172086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissLouisa/pseuds/MissLouisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is never going to complete his PhD if he keeps getting distracted by the sculptor in the arts department he can see from his window.</p><p>Somehow, this turns into a plan to pose as an undergraduate and join his class. There's no way it can end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!  
> New fic! Yay! (I haven't abandoned the Olympic AU, don't worry)  
> This was inspired by Kat because she had a crush on her hot TA and then we started talking about how if Scott was Stiles' teacher they'd get into debates no matter the subject and somehow that evolved into Scott does sculpture/pottery and Stiles is an idiot  
> SO YEAH. None of this could have been written without Kat [punklinski](http://punklinski.tumblr.com).  
> Apologies for the awful title, drew a complete blank on this one.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I know shit all about biology, I dropped it when I was sixteen. Also I know nothing about sculpture or pottery or anything so. Fair warning.

Stiles is distracted. He kind of exists in a perpetual state of distraction, but it's becoming a problem.

The problem is- the problem is, while he's supposed to be working in the lab he keeps glancing out of the window and seeing Sculpture Dude. That's what Stiles started calling him in his head when staring at Sculpture Dude caused him to mess up an important set of samples.

He might need to change offices. Or colleges, even. He's never going to get his PhD if Sculpture Dude keeps looking so damn pretty in the building opposite the biology labs.

He spends a lot of time complaining about this guy to the girl who works in the lab with him. He's not sure Lydia is his friend, per se, but he would like to be friends. In an ideal world.

He doesn't understand any of the work she does, either. He's pretty sure her thesis is far more math based than biology, and he has no idea why she needs to use any of the lab equipment, but she's intimidating enough that he never asks questions.

It's when Stiles winds up working late (he's behind, again, on submitting a report on the latest kind of growth in a petri dish) when he spots, through the window, Sculpture Dude teaching a class. It must be an evening class or something, but there's a whole group of people with lumps of clay in front of them and - joy of joys - it even looks like it could be a beginner class.

This could be his in! Stiles could sign up for the class and flirt with Sculpture Dude and then finally stop obsessing enough to complete his PhD in a normal length of time. Maybe his advisor will finally stop giving him concerned looks. Maybe Lydia will actually treat him like he has a Master's degree instead of some innocent freshman.

Stiles has to join that class. He's going to make it happen.

He mentions his (frankly, genius) plan to Lydia, but then mentions that he has no idea how to make it happen. It's an undergrad class, he's pretty sure, and Stiles is definitely not an undergrad student.

Lydia raises an eyebrow coolly.

"If it gets you to shut up about it, I know someone in admissions. You would owe her if she gets you into McCall's class."

"You know his name? Do you know Sculpture Dude?"

Lydia rolls her eyes at him.

"I'm both grateful and betrayed," Stiles sniffs.

"I'll talk to Allison and get you into the class," Lydia says. "On two conditions."

Stiles lifts his eyes from the samples he was organizing to look at her.

"One, you shut up about him. And stop calling him Sculpture Dude."

"That was two," Stiles interrupts, and Lydia glares at him.

"Two, you never come over to my side of the lab again. It's obvious when you've touched things."

Stiles flushes, red high on his cheeks. He just wanted to know what she was studying, okay?

"I promise," Stiles says, contrite.

"Good. I'll talk to her tomorrow."

From what Stiles has overheard of Lydia's phone calls, Allison is Lydia's best friend from high school who works somewhere in admin and apparently has the power to get Stiles into that class, even though he's a PhD student.

Stiles has a deadline approaching though, so he tries (and fails) to brush the possibilities of sculpture class to the back of his mind and start organizing his report.

He sucks at everything creative, shit. At least it's a beginners class, he supposes, so his complete lack of ability will blend in. It certainly won't impress Sculpture Dude, who Lydia apparently knows.

Lydia Martin is all-powerful, Stiles learnt early on, but know he's pretty sure she's all-knowing too.

He has to get up and close the blinds to keep himself from looking out at the window opposite and imagining the possibilities.

Two days later, Lydia slaps a piece of paper on his desk, miraculously not disturbing the algae he's got growing there.

"7pm, Tuesdays and Thursdays. You're in the system as taking it as a requirement, so he won't be suspicious."

Lydia leans forward, and lowers her voice to a dangerous tone.

"McCall is my friend and if you hurt him I will disembowel you."

Stiles swallows, eyes wide, and grabs the piece of paper from his desk in a hurry.

There's a tinkling smash as a petri dish hits the floor.

"Not my problem," Lydia calls, as she turns with a flick of the hair and returns to the her side of the lab, typing away at her computer at a speed Stiles can't even comprehend.

"I know," Stiles says, scrambling desperately for the dustpan and brush that's kept in his top desk drawer - this isn't the first time this has happened - and sweeping up the mess he's made. "Thank you," he says.

Lydia takes her eyes off her computer screen to raise an eyebrow at him.

It lasts just a moment and then she turns back to face it, occasionally jotting things down in the notepad she has next to her. Stiles has to get back to work, trying to imitate Lydia's efficiency but overwhelmed by the knowledge that he can't compete.

He has a meeting with his advisor in the morning and he has to explain why he's fallen behind, and as cool as Erica is - and as often as she will let him spend their meetings geeking out over comics - he's not sure he can convince her of the merits of a sculpture class in the process of earning his PhD.

It's not his fault. Really, it isn't. Stiles would like to blame the architects who decided the windows in the arts building would be wide and easy to see in to, but really it's the fault of the medication that Stiles is not very good at taking.

So it's Stiles' fault.

Stiles and his libido and even from a distance the things that those hands do to lumps of clay is amazing. He could watch it all day. He has no idea how he's going to concentrate for the whole of a sculpture class when there is someone that distracting teaching.

He snaps out of it when Lydia glances at her watch and opens her mouth.

"It's 6.30pm on a Tuesday. You're due at that class in half an hour."

She pauses to look him from head to toe, and Stiles feels a shiver run down his spine. Being inspected is not his favorite sensation.

"Are you going to go dressed like that?" She asks, and heat rushes into Stiles' cheeks.

He glances down at himself. He's been wearing these jeans for three, maybe four days, and there's a tiny stain from that algae spillage on his knee. He's obviously not going to wear his lab coat to sculpture class, but he doesn't think there's anything too wrong with his t-shirt and plaid combination.

"What's wrong with this?"

"You dress like a teenager," Lydia tells him.

Stiles shrugs. "Aren't I pretending to be an undergrad?"

Lydia tilts her head to one side. "Yes," she says slowly. "But you still want to be an impressive undergrad, don't you?"

Stiles swallows, and nods.

"I mean, I have no idea what Scott's type is," Lydia says. "But I'm sure it's not that."

"Rude," Stiles mutters. "Is that his name?"

Lydia's eyes go to the ceiling, seeking some kind of salvation, Stiles thinks.

"You're not going to have time to go home and change anyway," Lydia sighs. "It's not worth trying."

"Sure, make me feel really insecure and then refuse to help," Stiles mutters petulantly.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "You're not insecure about your clothes," she says pointedly. "You're insecure about your personality."

"Hey, I have a great personality!"

"Well," Lydia says, tapping her fingers rhythmically on the table. "Let's hope McCall thinks so too."

"You're not very supportive," Stiles tells Lydia. He's not even pretending to do work anymore. He'll negotiate the extra hours he needs to put in in the lab with Erica in the morning.

"I got you into his class, didn't I?"

"How do you even know him?" Stiles asks.

Lydia shrugs. "Scott knows everyone."

"He doesn't know me," Stiles says quietly.

"I was dating a family friend of his for a while," Lydia says. "Him and the Hales go way back."

"You dated Derek Hale?" Stiles asks, awed. Derek is a history professor renowned for being fierce, unapproachable, and insanely hot. Stiles isn't surprised that Lydia managed to hit that.

"No," Lydia says. "His sister, Cora."

"Huh," Stiles says.

"If you're picturing me naked," Lydia says without looking up. "Stop."

"I'm not," Stiles says. "Just wondering why you're single when you could be with a Hale."

Lydia does look up at that, a small smile appearing on her face.

"Please," Lydia says. She doesn't say anything else, which leaves Stiles a little at a loss.

"You used past tense about Cora," Stiles points out. "That's all."

Abruptly, Lydia stands up.

"I got busy with work. I'm done for the day, and you're going to be late," she tells him, and Stiles figures it's a sore point.

Lydia's right, though. At this rate Stiles is definitely going to be late for sculpture class. Or is it pottery class if it's for complete beginners? Stiles doesn't know. This is probably the kind of thing he should have done research on before blindly signing up in an effort to get to know Scott. 

He barely remembers to hang up his lab coat before hightailing it out of the building.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was totally going to post this yesterday, but I had a shitty day and then I fell asleep. My bad.
> 
> Just to clarify! I have never been to university in the USA, nor have I ever taken any kind of sculpture/pottery class. If anything is dramatically factually incorrect let me know and I'll fix it.

Stiles isn't late for the class, which is a minor miracle under the circumstances. He heads for the back of the class, hoping to hide his ineptitude by finding distance. Plus all the staring will be really obvious if he's in the front row.

The class starts perfectly on time, with the teacher standing at the front with a badly stained white apron over a henley and jeans. When he turns around to write his name on the chalkboard Stiles falls in love with his shoulders.

"I'm Scott McCall," he says. "You can call me Scott. I know a lot of you are taking this just for the credits," his eyes rest on Stiles for just a moment and Stiles has to wonder if he looks that out of place.

"I don't grade on talent," Scott says. "Or on the end product. I grade based on effort. So if you lack artistic talent or you're clumsy, I don't care. Just show up and try."

There are murmurs of assent from the class.

"There are aprons hanging by the door, if you all want to grab one and some clay from the table and we'll get started."

There are only about fifteen people in the class, so queuing to pick up an apron and some clay doesn't take that long. Stiles returns to his bench and glances at the people surrounding him.

He's not the oldest in the room, but that's probably because this is a night class. He wonders if Scott can tell how out of place he feels, but he puts it out of his mind when Scott starts demonstrating the way they get started.

Maybe Stiles has always had a dirty mind, but he can't watch those fingers manipulate the clay without thinking about what they could do to him, and any attempt at listening goes out the window.

Scott probably says something instructional but Stiles just stares, endlessly. He's snapped out of it when Scott lifts his hands away from the clay and dips them in the bowl of water, announcing that everyone should get started and he'll be coming around to help out.

Stiles starts to sweat.

He has no idea. He doesn't know anything about sculpture and this was a terrible idea. He can't even concentrate on anything other than ogling his teacher. It's not like it matters if he fails, but it's still important.

He's suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to impress Scott, which is a shame because the lump of clay in front of him looks a little sad. He tries to copy the actions of the girl on the bench next to him, putting the clay on the wheel and dipping his hands in the water so he can make it wet.

He presses the foot pedal praying there won't be a disaster and... nothing happens. The wheel doesn't spin, the clay doesn't move, and Stiles has no idea what to do next. He can't even see where the wheel is plugged into, and no way does he want to ask for help this early.

He wipes his hands on the apron and drops to his hands and knees to follow the wire back to the source.

There's a polite cough from above his head and Stiles whacks his head on the table when he looks up.

"Everything okay?" Scott asks.

Stiles flushes pink.

"Yeah," he says, unsteadily. He crawls out from under the table and uses the stool to push himself up to standing. "I was just trying to figure out where the socket was."

"Your head okay?" Scott asks.

"It's been through worse," Stiles says. "I'm not sure you're prepared for my clumsiness."

Scott shrugs, a smile on his face. Up close, he's got a crooked jaw and soft looking hair and incredible brown eyes.

"We'll be okay," Scott says firmly. "Your wheel isn't working?"

Stiles shakes his head, and is surprised when Scott takes a seat in front of it, giving it an experimental spin with his hand.

"Damn," Scott says. "I think it's busted. You'll have to sit at the front."

Stiles swallows.

"You can tell that just by looking?" He asks.

Scott snorts. "No, Kira mentioned one of them was broken. Didn't say which one, though, and I didn't have time to test them before the class. Come on, grab your stuff."

"Who's Kira?"

"She runs another class," Scott says. He looks up through his eyelashes at Stiles. "She's the hot teacher, sorry to disappoint."

Stiles has to swallow back his next few words. He's never seen anyone other than Scott through the window, so he's a little confused about why he's never seen Kira before.

"Not disappointed," Stiles eventually settles with. "Is this pottery or sculpture class?"

Scott frowns. "Did you not read the course description before signing up?"

"Not exactly, no," Stiles admits.

"Taking it as a minimum requirement?"

Stiles nods, unwilling to open his mouth and lie properly, somehow. Not that he's not a great liar. Ask anybody - almost anybody. Not Lydia, obviously.

"I forgot to do registration," Scott says, suddenly. "I'll leave you to get started. Give me a shout if you need anything."

"Thanks, Scott," Stiles says sincerely, Scott's name feeling foreign in his mouth. Scott looks pleased though, shooting him a warm smile as he leaves to rummage through his desk. It's not like he's even going far away, now that Stiles is right at the front of the class.

Scott turns to the whole class clutching a sheaf of paper. "I'm going to do registration," he tells everyone. "If you have a preferred name, now is the time to say."

Scott runs through eight names before he frowns at the paper. "Stilinski?" He says, eventually.

"It's Stiles," Stiles says. "Ignore my first name."

Lydia went and put his actual first name on the class registration form. Nobody has ever been able to pronounce it except for her, on the first day they shared the lab. Stiles has a sneaking suspicion that she went and looked up the pronunciation when she got the paperwork for their lab, but he's never called her out on it. Thankfully, she sticks to calling him Stiles.

Scott glances up at him and smiles softly. "Stiles, got it."

Stiles thinks he might be in love.

He still has some pottery to do. Or maybe a sculpture.

He really should have listened at the beginning of the class, he's starting to think. Maybe taking this class is only going to make his distraction issues worse, because he'll be able to look out the window and see Scott and know what he's like - the sound of his voice and the shape of his hands - and he'll never get any work done, ever.

Erica is not going to accept any of this as an acceptable excuse, Stiles is sure. Transferring college should definitely have been his first option, instead of signing up to a freshman art class.

From this point onwards, Stiles decides, he's going to blame Lydia. She's an enabler, that's what she is.

Now that he has a wheel that's actually working, Stiles makes a second attempt at spinning the wheel with clay on it and making something. He dips his fingers in the water, as he's reasonably sure he saw Scott doing earlier, and applies a little pressure to his clay.

It does something. He's not sure what. It's not very pretty but it's done something. He's hoping that will count towards his grade for effort, if nothing else.

"What are you making?" Scott asks, after twenty minutes has passed of Stiles trying to move his hands in a way that will actually make something. Scott's apparently had the time to do another round of the classroom while Stiles has been struggling.

"What am I supposed to be making?" Stiles grumbles.

He spots Scott hiding a smile, though, so it's not the worst thing in the world. "Experimenting. It can be an ashtray or a vase or anything you want. So long as it's something."

Stiles looks at the lump of clay in front of him, now with occasional curves and gradients and some suspiciously sharp edges. "It's abstract."

"Not good enough," Scott says. "Sorry. This isn't a blow off class."

"Are you really passionate about... this, then?"

"You couldn't sound less interested if you tried," Scott says, laughing.

Stiles opens his mouth to apologise but Scott waves a hand.

"I get it, it's fine. Don't worry."

"Are you ever going to tell me if it's sculpture or pottery?" Stiles asks, a little petulant.

Scott smiles. "I think that's something you have to earn. Preferably by producing something better than that."

Stiles resists the urge to stick his tongue out.

"It's an abstract masterpiece," he calls after Scott's retreating back.

Scott doesn't answer, busy helping another student who is making a half decent vase. Maybe someone who took this class out of interest, rather than out of lust.

Stiles doesn't know why he didn't think this would be humiliating, given his complete lack of talent. It's not like Stiles is king of forward planning, but it seemed like a good idea on the whole. Lydia even supported it.

From here, though, it just looks like he's going to die of shame - he's definitely not going to get laid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Updates will be weekly on Wednesdays, looks like :)
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [argentwolvs](http://argentwolvs.tumblr.com) if you wanna come say hi!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: I know nothing about the American college system. It's a mystery to me. I also know nothing about biology or grad school. Apologies if it's horribly inaccurate.

Stiles tries to hold off on bringing up how class went for at least a little while on Wednesday morning.

He fails. Stiles has never successfully played it cool in his life.

Lydia breezes into their lab without a word, just like every other morning, and gets to work setting up some apparatus in a combination Stiles has never seen before. He has a master's degree, it's not like he's inexperienced, but at least 50% of the stuff Lydia does mystifies him.

She notices him staring, though, as she lifts her head and barks a sharp "What?" at him.

"Nothing," Stiles says. "Just interested in science."

Lydia pulls a face like that's the last thing she believes, but she doesn't comment.

Stiles logs in to his computer and waits for the thing to boot up. He's been begging the professor who runs the department for an OS upgrade for the last two months and he has gotten nowhere, and so every morning his computer crawls to a start and he questions why he ever shuts it down the night before.

His algae is growing, if nothing else. He's got a meeting with Erica in half an hour and at least he can point to his petri dishes and tell her that things are definitely happening, even if they're not happening at quite the speed intended.

He taps his fingers on the desk, a habit he knows Lydia has bitten his head off for before, but he can't sit still. He can't focus at all, and the blinds aren't even raised today.

"Jesus Christ, Stiles," Lydia exhales. "Do you want to debrief on how your stupid matchmaking scheme went? Are you secretly thirteen years old?"

Stiles stills his hand and blinks at her.

"Don't you have work to do?"

Lydia rolls her eyes. "Like I'm going to get anything done with you fidgeting over there."

Now that Stiles looks closely, something looks off with Lydia. He can't put his finger on it, but she looks more on edge than usual, for reasons that are bigger than just Stiles. Maybe her thesis, whatever it is, isn't going as well as she hopes either.

It's doubtful because it's Lydia, but Stiles can dream.

"I'm shit at sculpture," Stiles offers.

"That's why it's a beginner's class," Lydia says. "You didn't think you were going to impress him with your pottery skills, did you?"

"It's hard to pay attention to a thing he's saying," Stiles admits. Well, he sort of blurts it out, because Stiles has never been one for keeping things buried deep.

"You literally are thirteen years old, aren't you? How did you make it this far in life?"

"Up until this point I've never had this problem," Stiles insists.

Lydia raises an eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe."

"Okay, so I've had ADHD," Stiles says. "But I've never been distracted by a person before."

Lydia makes a contemplative sound. "Maybe I shouldn't have enabled your stalking," she says.

"It's not stalking," Stiles says.

He pauses.

"I mean, not like, illegal stalking, or anything."

"You tell me, you're the one who knows a suspicious amount about what is and isn't legal."

"My dad is a sheriff," Stiles says. "He works in law enforcement. I haven't just been arrested a dozen times."

"Fine," Lydia says. "So, you showed up in his class having lied your way to get into it in order to meet him, and then what?"

"I don't know. Nothing."

"Stiles," Lydia says slowly. "You do know how to talk to boys, don't you?"

"Firstly, I think Scott's old enough to be called a man," Stiles begins. "And secondly, yes, I have successfully had relationships before."

"But?"

"But Scott is hot like burning," Stiles says, burying his head in his hands.

Lydia makes a contemplative sound, but before she can open her mouth there are three sharp taps on their open lab door.

"Who is hot like burning?" Erica asks. "Let me guess, this week's reason you're running late."

Stiles bits his lip.

"Um," he says.

"Bring your file to my office," Erica tells him. "We've got some catching up to do."

"You're terrifying," Stiles calls after Erica as he picks up his most updated results sheets, scrambling to catch up with her down the corridor.

"You're lucky I like you," Erica tells him when he finally falls into step with her, more than a little out of breath.

"Very lucky," Stiles pants.

Erica smirks, and opens the door to her office, gesturing for him to go inside.

"So how far behind are you, exactly?" Erica asks, once she's settled on the other side of her desk.

Stiles winces. "Hard to quantify," he says. "But I can work late and make the time up."

"There's no point if you're still distracted," Erica says. "You're going to have to tell me everything."

Stiles frowns. "You just invited me in here to get dirt on the postgrad students."

"Yep," Erica grins.

Stiles is only a little intimidated.

"Do you know Scott McCall?" He winds up asking.

"Sure," Erica says. "Everyone knows Scott McCall."

"How does everyone know Scott McCall? Am I the only one that doesn't know him?"

"He's the hot girl," Erica says, as if that's an explanation.

Stiles stares at her blankly.

"Nevermind," Erica says. "It was a conversation with Isaac, it's complicated."

"I want to date him. Or fuck him. I'm not sure yet," Stiles admits.

"Scott's the hot like burning distraction?" Erica asks, sounding delighted. "No way, he's out of your league."

"Rude, Erica."

"True. If Scott is the hot girl then you're the nerdy kid crushing from afar. Which is remarkably accurate, actually."

Stiles scrubs his hands through his hair. "Sometimes the nerdy kid gets the girl," he offers.

"Only in movies designed to make ugly men feel better about themselves," Erica says firmly. "You're not going to get the hot girl."

"Why not?"

Erica frowns.

"I suppose you've got potential," she says. "But your fashion sense is terrible and you're too sarcastic."

"There's nothing inherently wrong with sarcasm," Stiles points out.

"Scott McCall is the opposite of cynical. He's an optimist."

"So?"

"So there's a basic mismatch of personalities," Erica says.

Stiles sighs. "So maybe I just have sex with him and move on with my life."

"Wait, how long has Scott been distracting you?"

"Well," Stiles pauses. "The window to his studio is opposite our lab."

"Jesus," Erica says. "This is why you've been the shittest student ever?"

"I also have diagnosed ADHD, it's on my paperwork."

"You're way past the fuck it out stage," Erica says. "This is like, intervention level infatuation."

"You only found out I liked him two minutes ago," Stiles says. He pulls an aggrieved face which Erica rolls her eyes at.

"I'm your advisor, I know everything," Erica says.

"Including about my love life?"

"You don't have a love life," Erica points out. "You want one, which is the problem."

"I joined Scott's sculpture class," Stiles admits. "So you can't tell him I'm a PhD student."

Erica stares at him, eyes wide, for a moment.

"He thinks you're an undergraduate?" She asks. She sounds utterly delighted, and she starts laughing as soon as she finishes speaking.

"Freshman," Stiles admits. "Taking his class to fill my requirements."

"Oh jesus," Erica says. "Isaac is going to love this."

Stiles buries his head in his hands. "Please don't tell anyone."

"Too late," Erica says gleefully, tapping away at her phone.

"At least don't tell Scott?" Stiles asks.

Erica puts her phone down and fixes him with a flat look.

"Scott is never going to date one of his students, especially not one who he thinks is fresh out of high school. That is the worst possible plan."

"I thought, maybe, I'd get to know him," Stiles says. "And then eventually reveal that I'm actually a PhD student, and he'd realize that everything is totally kosher, and we'd go on a date or something."

"How thought out was this plan?"

Stiles frowns. "Not much."

"You didn't think maybe he'd feel a bit betrayed when you did your big reveal?"

"I guess I kind of hoped... no."

Erica sighs. "I can't believe I'm doing this, but I'm going to try to help."

"You will?"

"First things first, if you haven't already ruined it, we can tell him you're a senior who is filling in a last requirement before graduating."

"That will work?" Stiles asks.

Erica shrugs. "I did a lot weirder things in my senior year," she tells him. "Plus it means that I can demand you take time off this venture for your thesis and it will be believable."

"Right," Stiles says. He feels a little guilty, now, for not focusing so much on his thesis, the one that Erica's been supporting him with for day one.

"We might have to get Isaac involved," Erica says. "You know Lahey, right?"

Stiles nods. "We're friends."

"Well, you're going to owe him a favor. Once you've gotten to know Scott well enough, we'll have a party or something. Then you can make your move."

"This doesn't solve my problem with the lying," Stiles points out.

Erica shrugs. "That is too big to solve in just one day," she says. "This is going to be a multi-step plan."

"I'm going to owe you favors for the rest of my life, aren't I?" Stiles groans.

Erica leans back in her chair and grins.

"I'm looking forward to it," she says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm going on holiday this week so next update will be Friday 6th of Feb, fingers crossed. It might be later.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles leaves Erica's office feeling marginally more hopefully about things with Scott and a lingering sense of dread about his thesis. Erica was... supportive, is one word, and Stiles is not so secretly hoping that having a plan to win over Scott will help him focus on his thesis.

"Erica didn't tear you to shreds," Lydia remarks, as he reenters the lab.

"Erica loves me," Stiles tells her. "She thinks you're uptight."

Lydia sniffs. "She likes you because you're easy to manipulate."

"Has anyone ever told you you have a way with words?"

"I won an award for it, in high school," Lydia says, a snarky smile on her face. Stiles has suspicions that if she were less composed she'd stick her tongue out at him.

"So how is your love life?" Stiles asks. "We've talked a lot about mine recently, I feel."

"Your love life only exists in your feverish imagination," Lydia reminds him.

"Are you dodging the question?"

Lydia rests her elbows on her desk, crosses her hands beneath her chin, and leans forward. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Absolutely," Stiles grins.

"I have a sex life, not a love life," Lydia says. "And it's sensational and far better than anything you could dream of."

Stiles' jaw drops.

Lydia smiles. "Close your mouth, sweetheart. Just because I want you to shut up about Scott doesn't mean I secretly have a heart of gold."

"Does wanting me to shut up about Scott extend to giving me advice on what to wear tomorrow?" Stiles asks hopefully.

Lydia rubs one hand into the crease that appears in her forehead.

"Well it will take a lifetime to improve you," she says. "But firstly when was the last time you washed those jeans? And don't overdo it and wear a shirt, if you even own one. Wash that hoodie, too, and wear the blue plaid."

"You've memorized my wardrobe?" Stiles asks.

Lydia raises an eyebrow. "It's the only thing you own that flatters you in the slightest."

"Right," Stiles says, uncertain. "Thanks."

"Are you going to do any work today, or just stare out the window?" Lydia asks, and now that Stiles looks closely she really does look tired.

He thinks about asking if she's okay, but it's Lydia Martin. She's never offered any information about her life without a lot of prompting, and he's sure she's scorn his concern.

Besides, she'll snap out of it soon enough. Lydia's kind of unstoppable like that.

"I'll work," Stiles promises, and starts stacking his petri dishes in an orderly manner. It's probably not the safest thing in the world, but it's an organization system that works in Stiles' head.

Besides, he's got to get as much done as he can in the morning because Erica made him promise to have lunch with Isaac and that's probably going to be so humiliating he'll have to go home and sleep it off. Maybe call his dad, complain about his disaster of a life. Isaac can be sweet sometimes, but him and Stiles have butted heads in the past over Stiles making a few off-hand remarks (okay, Stiles can be kind of an asshole sometimes, but so can Isaac, alright? He thought he could take it) and Stiles has a feeling Isaac is going to mock him mercilessly.

And even then he might only maybe help him a little bit. Or maybe Isaac knows something Stiles doesn't, like that Scott only likes older men, or doesn't like men at all, and it's all a big joke.

Isaac probably isn't that vindictive, but Stiles is still apprehensive. He feels a little like he's made a deal with the devil.

Well, the devil would be Derek Hale (because if Isaac and Stiles butted heads then Derek and Stiles had had a battle to the death on their first meeting), but still.

Erica said that Isaac texted back that he was crying with laughter, which isn't promising. And Erica said that Isaac would want something in return. Stiles likes to consider himself a decent guy, okay?

He's just not sure he's willing to owe Isaac a favor, but he's already walked in to that one.

Maybe this will make them friends. Stiles doubts it, but on occasion he likes to be optimistic. Isaac would be a cool friend to have. He isn't fucking any of Stiles' other friends, which is a plus, and he doesn't totally hate spending time with Stiles (Boyd hates spending time with Stiles whenever Erica inflicts him in Boyd), but those are fairly low standards to set.

The impending lunch with Isaac lingers on Stiles' mind for the whole morning, but he does manage to get some work done, at least. He doesn't make any more conversation with Lydia, but every time he glances up at her she's staring intently at her computer screen and typing furiously.

Lydia is a formidable woman. Stiles is sure she'll get through whatever it is her problem is.

He heads to the cafeteria with a polite goodbye to Lydia, and she waves a dismissal at him, clearly not concerned with where he's going. Stiles wonders if it would have been polite to invite her along, but dismisses the thought as quickly as it comes. This is going to be embarrassing enough, he thinks.

Isaac already has a tray in front of him so Stiles queues up for a crappy sandwich and the surprisingly good coffee they serve here. He drops his plastic tray with a thunk and sits down opposite Isaac.

"So you're stalking Scott McCall," Isaac says, instead of a greeting.

"Jesus," Stiles says, glancing around. "Does anyone from the arts department eat here?"

"No," Isaac says. "But don't worry, I've told some people anyway."

Stiles buries his head in his hands.

"You are the devil."

"No," Isaac says, grinning. "I'm your favorite person. I'm going to team up with Erica and help you in your mission to get laid."

Stiles eyes him suspiciously.

"Why?" He asks.

"Out of the goodness of my heart," Isaac says.

Stiles stares at him for a moment.

"No, what's the real reason?"

Isaac rolls his eyes. "Dick."

Stiles shrugs.

"Fine, maybe I'd like you to owe me a favor. I might have my own problem."

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "What kind of problem?"

"The kind Erica would tease me mercilessly about," Isaac admits, looking unhappy as he does so.

Stiles tries not to grin. "Do you like someone? Do you have a crush on someone?"

"Okay, you really can't talk," Isaac says. "You do not have the moral high ground on this one."

"I've been the butt of every joke for days," Stiles says. "You've got to let me enjoy this."

"No," Isaac says. "We're helping each other out, that's it."

"Fine," Stiles says. He pauses. He's never been able to put his finger on Isaac's sexuality, so he tries to phrase it as delicately as he can. "So who is the unfortunate soul?"

Isaac glances down at his tray. "Allison Argent? She works in admin."

"Lydia's best friend?"

Isaac looks up sharply. "I forgot you shared a lab with her. Please don't tell Lydia."

"Lydia knows everything," Stiles tells Isaac. "She's probably three steps ahead of you already."

"Yeah, well, Allison is... something else."

"I overheard Lydia joking about helping Allison hide a body," Stiles offers.

Isaac smiles.

It's a little creepy.

"I like her," Isaac says firmly. "And I need to ask her out."

"What do you need me for?"

"By the end of the semester, we both have to make a move with the person we like. You have to tell Scott you're really a postgrad student who saw him through a window, and I have to take Allison on a date."

"What happens if we don't?"

Isaac looks like he's considering his words very carefully.

"Then the other person has to do the reveal. I get to tell Scott you're a creepy stalker, you get to tell Allison her secret admirer is a coward."

Stiles pauses, takes a bite of his sandwich and chews it over slowly while he thinks this through.

"If you want to humiliate me, then there's no benefit to you of helping me out, though."

Isaac shrugs. "Scott's a friend of mine. It's been way too long since he last got laid."

"So you'll help me out?"

Isaac nods. "Erica mentioned something about a party where he could see you in a non-student context."

"I should probably get to know him a bit first," Stiles admits. "Let's not rush into this."

Isaac smirks. "You have a deadline now, Stiles."

"So do you," Stiles says. "What's your big plan?"

Isaac swallows, and shrugs. It looks strange on his too-thin frame. "I'm going to try to talk to her, I guess."

"That's your game plan?" Stiles asks. "Just... talking?"

"I'm not a stalker," Isaac points out.

Stiles frowns. "How well do you actually know her?"

"Mostly through Scott," Isaac admits. "They used to date."

"Scott's okay with that?"

Isaac shrugs. "Said it was an amicable breakup. Besides, Scott is the nicest guy ever. Way out of your league, really."

"You are not the first person to tell me that," Stiles says.

Isaac looks entirely too pleased.

They run through a few different scenarios of Isaac talking to Allison, and Stiles tells Isaac about his disastrous last relationship, and it's mostly amicable. There are a few sharp comments sent one way or the other, but Stiles thinks that maybe this deal could work.

He's not looking forward to spending more time with Isaac, but if it gets him Scott, then it'll be worth it, Stiles is pretty sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YO. Thanks for waiting for me. Sticking around n stuff. You guys are pretty cool.
> 
> Next update on Thursday 12th of February! Probably! If I can decide what happens next!


	5. Chapter 5

On Thursday, Stiles shoves the flannel Lydia told him to wear into his bag and pretends like he doesn't notice Lydia looking him up and down when he enters the lab.

"Good jeans," Lydia says approvingly. "Shirt in your bag?"

Stiles is apparently absolutely transparent.

He grunts affirmatively.

"Hm. Maybe you'll make an impression," Lydia says.

"Are you going to keep being this patronizing?" Stiles asks, dropping his bag on the floor and opening the top drawer for his papers.

Lydia smiles at him, but it looks empty, and for the second time in two days, Stiles thinks about asking if she's okay.

She doesn't look okay.

Stiles has always considered himself to be at least a minimally decent human being, but he's not sure if reaching out will get his head bitten off.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, carefully.

Lydia's smile disappears and her gaze is suddenly icy.

"What?"

"You just... haven't been your usual sunny self," Stiles says.

Lydia pauses and looks down at her desk, appearing to consider her words.

"Can I trust you?" She asks eventually.

"I'm terrified of you," Stiles tells her. "Definitely."

She smiles weakly at that.

"It's complicated," she says. "My thesis is going perfectly. My friendship with Allison is as solid as it has ever been."

She pauses.

"But?" Stiles prompts.

"I haven't done anything reckless and stupid like join a ceramics class to stalk a hot teacher in forever," Lydia says eventually.

Stiles smirks. "You need some adventure in your life," he tells her.

Lydia rolls her eyes. "It's... ridiculous. It's wrong."

"What were you like in high school?" Stiles asks, because he has too.

Lydia shrugs. "I was the queen bee," she says. "By design. I dated the captain of the lacrosse team and I hosted the best parties. It was carefully planned and maintained."

"You're a very impressive woman, Lydia Martin."

"I know," Lydia tells him, with a smile. "But I have manipulated my way through life since I was ten years old. There has to be something more to it."

"Did you love the captain of the lacrosse team?" Stiles asks. He's only half serious, but Lydia pulls a disgusted face in response.

"I thought I did at the time," Lydia says. "But he was a piece of work. I'm a little surprised he hasn't crawled out of the woodwork more recently to bring up old drama."

Stiles leans back in his chair. "I think you need drama."

"No," Lydia says firmly. "For drama, I live vicariously through Allison."

Stiles grins. "Did you know Isaac has a crush on Allison?"

Lydia purses her lips. "He's been very good at hiding that."

"You can't tell her," Stiles says. "Me and Isaac have a deal, and if you tell her, he'll tell Scott about me."

Lydia laughs, suddenly, and Stiles doesn't think he's ever heard her laugh before. Not genuinely.

"This is going to be amazing to watch," Lydia tells him sincerely.

"We were talking about you," Stiles reminds her.

Lydia raises her eyebrows. Stiles wonders how much time she spends per week getting them to look so perfect.

"What about me?"

"You're... I don't know, different."

Lydia pauses. "Cora wants to date. Properly."

"And you don't?"

"I do," Lydia says.

Stiles frowns, but Lydia shushes him before he opens his mouth to speak.

"Cora thinks I should quit academics after I finish my PhD."

"And you don't want to get into a relationship if it's going to be all disagreements," Stiles finishes.

Lydia nods. "I said I'd think about it, but I think she knew it was a lie."

"Let me guess, neither of you are big on compromises?"

"Not at all," Lydia says.

She looks down at her papers again.

"So you broke up because you want to focus on academics and she disagreed, and now she wants to get back together but hasn't changed her mind?" Stiles asks.

Lydia looks up at him, and nods.

"God, listen to me," she says, picking up the paper in front of her and tossing it in her bin. "We're not even friends and I'm whining to you."

"Woah, Lydia, calm down," Stiles says, as Lydia starts going through her desk with a little more fervor.

She stops and looks at him. "Let's not pretend as soon as Erica asks for gossip you're not going to tell her all about my love life."

"I'm not, Lydia, I swear," Stiles says. "I promise."

Lydia settles back into her chair.

"We're not talking about my love life again," she tells him firmly. "And you need to get on with checking your samples."

Stiles follows orders.

The day goes slowly enough, and Lydia doesn't speak to him for the rest of the day. He wonders what he'd done to get her to open up to him, just that little bit, even if she shut down pretty quickly afterwards.

Lydia's terrifying, but Stiles thinks she would be a pretty amazing friend. She's probably the sort of person he'd have had a crush on ten years ago or so. He does have to wonder what her deal is, though. She doesn't seem to let a lot of people in, but he can definitely believe she was the most popular girl in her high school.

She's scary but she's kind and she's intense but socially savvy and Stiles wants to try and help her, as strange as it sounds.

He owes her, anywhere. She has got him out of a tight spot with his thesis once or twice, and she's definitely put up with a lot from the Scott thing.

He glances at his watch, noting the time, and disappears to the bathroom to get changed. He thinks he doesn't look too awful, and when he goes back into the lab Lydia nods her approval.

"What am I supposed to talk to him about?" Stiles asks.

"You do know how to have a conversation?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "He's my teacher. It's different. It's a lot harder to work in flirting and casual life stuff."

"Scott is really chilled out," Lydia says. "He won't call you out on being inappropriate. Just don't disrespect his class."

"He's serious about it?"

"He teaches it at college level, what do you think?" Lydia says flatly.

Stiles nods. "Does he have any other interests?"

"If you already know them, doesn't that spoil the fun?" Lydia asks. She looks like she's thinking about smirking, which Stiles resents.

Okay, so he still has a lot of mixed feelings about Lydia.

"I'm going to fuck it up," Stiles moans.

"Start by actually trying in the class," Lydia says. "And then ask him questions about that. See where it leads?"

"I don't know anything about pottery! Or ceramics, or sculpture, or whatever it is we're doing!"

"I don't think Scott's expecting you to know anything," Lydia points out. "It's a beginner class. Asking questions is a good sign. You'll impress him."

"What if all of my pottery is really ugly?"

"It'll give you something else to focus all of your insecurities on, and maybe you'll actually be able to make conversation."

"Ugh," Stiles says.

Lydia points at the door. "Go. You'll be late, otherwise."

"You suck," Stiles tells him as he walks to the door. "And tomorrow, we're going to talk about your problems again."

"No we're not," Lydia calls after him as he leaves. He smiles grimly to himself. She's not going to know what's hit her in the morning.

Unless Stiles is an idiot again and gets distracted by mooning over Scott. It's kind of inevitable at this point. The blinds have to be permanently closed in the lab, or he doesn't get any work done.

He spends the whole walk over to the art department, which, admittedly, isn't very long - but he does climb the stairs instead of taking the lift - trying to think up a winning opening line, something that will make Scott realize how great Stiles is.

Stiles doesn't really know Scott at all, he's starting to realize. He just knows the impressions of him he's had, from what he's seen interacting with other people, and what he's heard. Which is mostly that he's out of Stiles' league, but he still picked up ideas.

He likes what he knows so far and he wants to know more. He's not sure he wants to show all of his cards just yet.

He thinks he's going to try this week, try and follow instructions and not get distracted. He'll ask the right questions and he'll make conversation.

And then next week, if it turns out he's terrible at it, he's going to ask for extra help. Explain that he's a senior who needs this class to graduate, or something to really pull at Scott's heartstrings.

He wants to get to know the floppy-haired guy with the stupidly dazzling smile. He just probably shouldn't have gone such a circuitous route to get there.

He's early to the class, and he blames Lydia for that, and when he walks in, Scott recognizes him immediately and welcomes him with a smile.

"Stiles, I actually had a question about your paperwork?" Scott asks, and Stiles feels his stomach drop.

This can't possibly go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I attempted a cliffhanger! Did it work?
> 
> Next chapter next Thursday _probably_ , but I make no guarantees because I'm kind of busy at the moment. Sorry. I am trying to keep up with one chapter a week though, I swear!
> 
> I'm on tumblr at [argentwolvs](http://argentwolvs.tumblr.com) if you want to come say hi.


	6. Chapter 6

Stiles grabs an apron and tries for nonchalant as he approaches Scott at the front of the class.

"My paperwork?" he asks.

"Yeah," Scott says, frowning down at the sheet of paper in front of me. "I tried to enter attendance on the computer, and it couldn't find the student code listed on your paperwork."

Stiles blinks. He doesn't even know what that means, let alone does he have any way of bluffing his way out of it.

"I didn't fill out the form myself," he says. "Someone at the office did it for me."

"Yeah, Allison Argent. I spoke to her and she said she'd sort it, but it's a really unusual problem."

Stiles pauses, trying to think of something - anything - that might explain why he's not entered in the computer problem.

"I'm actually just coming back after a leave of absence," he blurts out. "I had to take a year off to look after my dad."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Scott says. "It's just that - if you're taking it to fill a requirement, I have to register your attendance electronically."

"Got it," Stiles says. "I'll talk to Allison about it."

"You know her?" Scott says.

It takes a moment or two for Stiles to hear what Scott's asking. To realize what he's just said. Shit.

"Sort of?" Stiles wavers.

"She doesn't usually deal with undergrads," Scott says. "If you don't want to tell me, that's fine."

Stiles shrugs. "I don't really know her. I owe her a favor is a better description."

"She won't hold it over you forever," Scott says. "She's not like that."

"It's okay, I already have something in the works to pay her back," Stiles says, a smile on his face. "Don't tell her I said that though, it's a surprise."

He's pretty sure he's weaseled out of it when Scott just smiles back at him. Scott McCall's smiles are brighter than the sun, Stiles is pretty sure, but he reminds himself of his promise to concentrate and actually try this week.

If nothing else, it will do more to get on Scott's good side than anything else Stiles has done thus far.

He takes his seat at the front of the class, and everyone else starts filing in, grabbing their aprons.

Scott starts talking and calls attendance, even shooting Stiles a smile when he says his name, and then he sets their task for the day.

Stiles can do this. He can concentrate, he swears.

He watches carefully what Scott does with his hands. He's not sure he'll be able to replicate it, but he's going to try today.

"Everybody got it?" Scott asks, eyes scanning the class looking for any signs of confusion. His eyes land on Stiles last, and linger there just a moment, and Stiles nods vigorously to try and reassure Scott.

He doesn't want Scott to think he doesn't give a shit. Even if that's sort of the truth - Stiles really couldn't care less about ceramics, but pretending to is a fairly minor deception than all of the others so he's not that worried.

He just wants Scott to like him.

His vigorous nodding does at least make Scott smile, before they're all directed to start.

And Stiles tries, he really does. But he can't get his fingers to move in the way Scott's do, and he can't shape his clay in quite the same way.

He starts over several times, but each attempt seems worse than the last.

Also, he's pretty sure he wiped his face with a hand with clay on it, because he can feel something solid in his eyebrow.

He hasn't even noticed that Scott has been going round the class until Scott opens his mouth.

"Everything okay, Stiles?" Scott asks, and Stiles jumps in his seat.

Stiles gets to watch Scott stifle a smile at that, though, so that's something.

"I'm crap at this," Stiles says, frowning at the clay he's just reshaped into a block for the fourth time.

"Show me what you're doing," Scott says, "and we'll try and figure out where it's going wrong."

Stiles dips his fingers in the water and puts his foot down on the pedal, letting the wheel spin slowly. He applies pressure to the clay, aware of Scott's eyes on him, and he can't help but be embarrassed when it has exactly the same result as the last three tries.

Stiles groans in frustration.

"Everyone has to start from somewhere," Scott says. "C'mon, I'll help you out."

"Okay, I think I see what you're doing wrong," Scott says, and then he leans forward and puts his hands on top of Stiles' and Stiles forgets to breathe.

Scott's hands are warm and rough, and they put pressure on Stiles' in a way that makes the clay do something that actually looks... not terrible. Stiles is almost pleased.

"You're using the wrong part of your hand," Scott says. "See? Like that."

Stiles nods.

"Try it again, without me," Scott says, and Stiles wonders how on earth Scott is so patient. Stiles has no intention of going into teaching when he finishes his PhD because he knows he couldn't stand to walk people through basic concepts.

Stiles presses the foot pedal down just slightly, and shapes his hands the way Scott had shown him, and miraculously, the clay starts doing what it's told. It's still slightly lopsided and it's far from perfect, but for a beginner effort Stiles thinks it maybe isn't bad.

"Thanks," Stiles says, easing off the foot pedal.

"Glad I could help," Scott says.

"Am I the worst student you've ever had?"

Scott laughs. "Not at all. You're willing to try, which is something. I know taking these classes as a requirement can sometimes suck."

"Not if you've got a good teacher," Stiles says, testing the water to see how Scott reacts.

He's a little pleased to see Scott's cheek go pink.

"Like I said," Scott says. "Glad I could help."

"I'm still going to suck at this," Stiles tells him. "I don't think even you can give me artistic talent."

"What are you majoring in?"

"Biology," Stiles says. It's only slightly a lie. He did major in biology... several years ago."No art required."

"I flunked high school biology," Scott says. "So you're still impressive."

Stiles laughs. "I'll take that as a compliment. Most people's eyes just kind of glaze over."

"I've got friends in the Bio department here," Scott says. "It's all cool."

"You are impressively laid back," Stiles tells him.

Scott shrugs. "I'm not always."

He doesn't elaborate, and Stiles doesn't feel comfortable asking, but he's amazed that Scott is so open.

It's almost like he's forgotten Stiles is one of his students, which gives him a little hope.

Scott seems to catch himself then, and stands up straighter glancing around the class.

"I should go talk to the other students," Scott says.

Stiles nods and waves him away, secretly pleased that he'd distracted Scott away from his duties.

He feels like he's getting somewhere. He's not sure where, and he's not sure he's going to get far enough with just classroom interactions, but somewhere. It's progress. And he'd managed to make Scott McCall blush, which definitely pleases him.

Unfortunately, he still has to actually do the work for the ceramics class. If nothing else, he doesn't want to disappoint Scott, and he's invested so much thought into this whole scheme it seems a shame to waste it on failing.

He starts the pottery wheel again and gets going, thinking he might make a bowl, or a vase, or whatever basic beginner pottery things there are. What he creates is still lopsided, but it distracts his attention for the rest of the class until Scott stands at the front to dismiss them.

"On Tuesday we're going to do a non-practical class," Scott tells them. "We'll be looking at different styles of clay sculpture. On Thursday we'll start planning the sculpture project we'll be doing for the rest of the semester. We'll be learning other techniques throughout, this week was just to ease you all in."

Stiles swallows.

He is not prepared for this. He barely remembers the art requirement he did in undergrad, and he's pretty sure it was something about art history.

He's supposed to be working on a PhD thesis, he has experiments running. He's pretty sure Erica wants him to take over teaching one of her classes! He can't afford to waste time on a sculpture project. He's sure Scott isn't going to make it too demanding, but Stiles' priorities are very different to an undergrad student.

Christ, getting laid actually ranks lower on his priority list than studying. This is what his life has become.

He'll try, Stiles decides. He'll try to balance the two. He'll have to explain the situation to Isaac so he has a get out clause in their deal, he thinks, because his PhD has to come first.

Scott McCall may be someone special but Stiles has got to keep his shit in order.

This is what adulthood feels like, maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! Is Stiles having doubts? 
> 
> Thanks for reading :) 
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll be able to update on time next week, for various reasons, but it will either be on Wednesday or sometime Saturday/Sunday. I would like to commit to Thursday BUT I'm travelling across the country for medical treatment. So. Sorry. 
> 
> You guys are great!


	7. Chapter 7

Stiles marches into the lab ten minutes late on Friday morning, but determined to have a super productive day. He is going to be a goddamn adult and focus on his studies, and on being Erica's bitch.

Sleeping through his alarm means nothing, shut up.

Lydia clucks her tongue as he walks in, but doesn't say anything, so he grabs a lab coat and set to setting up his samples. He's not even going to shut the blinds today, because he can be an adult and not get distracted by a nice view.

He gets to see that view up close twice a week, he doesn't need to see it from a distance.

It's actually pretty easy to focus after the first fifteen minutes, not least because Stiles has been making an effort to take his medication lately. He sorts his samples and he uses the pipette to drip tiny amounts of the chemical into six of his petri dishes. Three of them, he puts in the freezer, along with three of the regular algae dishes, all at varying stages of growth.

His thesis is coming along, he thinks. The experiment is close to confirming his initial hypothesis, although that's not enough to form his whole thesis.

But it feels good, and it reminds him why he loves the subject.

Erica raps her knuckles sharply on the wooden door, causing Stiles to glance up. She grins at him, shark like, then turns to Lydia.

"How's he doing?" She asks her.

"Surprisingly productive," Lydia says dryly. "I think he's in a good mood."

Stiles goes faintly pink, even though there's nothing about Scott that's put him in a good mood. He's just being useful.

Erica makes a contemplative sound. "He certainly didn't make a move on Scott, I would know by now."

"That's what I thought," Lydia says.

Stiles' mouth drops open. "The two of you are ridiculous," he says. "I'm just being a good student."

"You were late this morning," Lydia says.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Anyone's alarm can suffer from a freak mishap." A freak mishap which involved Stiles missing the snooze button in favor of the off button.

"How was your class?" Erica asks, leaning against the doorframe. Lydia abandons any pretense at work (Stiles had noticed that she seemed more distracted than usual that morning - checking her phone and tapping out frantic replies to something every time it made it's little ping sound) to listen.

"Fine," Stiles says. "There's a problem with my paperwork, though. I'm not registered electronically for his class, apparently."

Lydia frowns. "I'll get Danny on it."

"Can I talk to Danny? I love Danny!"

"We know," Erica and Lydia say emphatically, at the same time.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "What's wrong with my liking Danny?"

"The fact that you mention it every time his name comes up," Lydia says, saccharine sweet.

"And the fact that he says you creep him out," Erica says, grinning.

"I asked him out, like, once," Stiles says.

"Three times," Lydia corrects.

"You know what, I'm going back to my work," Stiles says, turning away. He hears Erica snort behind him.

"So I guess we cleared up that Stiles definitely didn't get laid last night," she says.

Stiles is pretty sure he can hear Lydia rolling her eyes. "Please. Stiles would never make a move that fast."

"You two are just rude," Stiles says, turning back to them.

They shrug, both looking innocent.

"Anyway, I actually had a reason for coming to talk to you," Erica says.

"Other than ruining my life?"

That does at least make the corners of Lydia's lips quirk up, which brings Stiles a little bit of relief, somehow. He's worried about her. He can't explain it, he just is.

"My Wednesday class," Erica says, tone businesslike, and Stiles has been waiting for this. It's not that he wants to teach a group of petulant undergrads, but it will look great on his applications when he's finished with his PhD, and he likes that Erica trusts him with the responsibility. "You think you can do it?"

"I don't know the details, but I don't have any firm commitments then," Stiles says.

"We'll have a meeting on Monday," Erica says.

Stiles nods. "10am?"

"Not an excuse to sleep in," Erica says, a smile playing at her lips.

"Yes boss," Stiles says.

"None of that," Erica says. "What are your Saturday night plans?"

Stiles shrugs. He was vaguely considering spending the whole weekend in bed, but he doesn't have anything definite yet.

"Perfect," Erica says, her grin turning dangerous. "You're coming out with me."

"Aren't you technically my boss?" Stiles asks, skeptical.

"We're allowed to be friends," Erica tells him coolly. "You too, Lydia. You're coming."

"No," Lydia says firmly.

"Got plans?"

"Does it make a difference if I do?" Lydia bites, and yeah, something is really wrong there.

Erica shrugs with one shoulder, but she exchanges a look with Stiles. She's spotted it, too. The usually calm, collected Lydia is acting stressed. Stiles might even go as far as to say tetchy, but definitely not to her face.

"Who else is going?" Lydia asks, slowly.

"Isaac," Erica says. "Not Boyd, because he hates Stiles."

Stiles groans. Erica reminds him of Boyd's intense dislike of Stiles every time it comes up in conversation. Just because one time Stiles asked a few too many questions, and let slip that Erica way overshares about her sex life.

"Hey, bring Allison," Stiles says, a bright idea sparking in his brain. "Isaac can talk to her, and then he'll owe me a favor."

Lydia makes a contemplative noise. "Alright," she says. "I'll bring Allison. What are we doing?"

"Yes!" Erica says, sounding gleeful. "This is perfect."

Lydia levels her with a look. "If we're going to a crappy bar I'm not coming."

"Relax," Erica says. "I know a guy. We're going to Nix."

Stiles raises his eyebrows. He doesn't know what Erica makes but his PhD does not leave him with a lot of spending money, not for a place like Nix.

"I can't even afford entry to Nix, let alone a drink," Stiles says.

Erica smiles. "I said, I know a guy. I can get us in for free. Drinks are actually pretty cheap once you get in, anyways.

Lydia raises an eyebrow. "We're going to pre-game. If we're doing this, we're doing it properly."

"Alright," Erica says. "I'll email you both my address and when to come."

She fixes a dark look on Stiles. "Dress like an adult, for once."

Stiles exhales roughly and shrugs with his whole upper body. Everybody hates the plaid, honestly. Erica grins at him and leaves, and Stiles has plans for his weekend now, apparently.

"I know a guy," Lydia mutters, mockingly, to herself, and Stiles snorts. She glances up in surprise, and Stiles wonders if she'd forgotten he was there.

He doesn't resume their conversation, because he thinks that maybe Lydia needs all the personal space she can get for the rest of today. And Stiles has things to be getting on with. He's losing some of his lab time next week for Erica's class, so he has to step it up a notch.

The deadline he's written in red and pinned above the freezer is looming, the first stage of getting this qualification.

The first stage of getting something he's done published in a peer-reviewed journal. It's exciting and it's terrifying, but most importantly, Stiles is not adequately prepared for it. Erica's helpful, sure, when she's not making fun of him, but it's still new.

And he's pretty sure he's competing against people like Lydia, who are leagues ahead with their theses and don't have distracting crushes on ceramics teachers.

His samples are settling in the freezer and he'll check on them on Monday, but for now he has writing to do. The results for this are stuffed haphazardly in one of the filing cabinets he'd been granted access to and Stiles is kicking himself now for not being more organized on day 1, just as Lydia predicted he would be.

If he finishes this paper today then he doesn't have to think at all for the whole weekend. He can get gloriously drunk on Saturday night with people who aren't really his friends but probably could be, at a stretch, and then on Monday he can come back and start fresh.

It'll be good for him, he thinks.

Probably for Lydia too.

Even if he's pretty sure he owns exactly zero items of clothing that Erica would deem appropriate, save for those he used to wear to the gay bar back home when he wanted to hook up. And he doesn't want to hook up, he's pretty sure. He's looking for a fun night with could-be-friends.

He'll make do. He just hopes it's worth the effort and it doesn't devolve into awkwardness. It's an odd group of people, and he doesn't know how well Isaac actually knows Allison. Or vice versa, for that matter.

It'll probably be the most interesting way he's spent a weekend in months, however it turns out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many questions! What's up with Lydia? What does Erica have up her sleeve? Will Isaac ever forgive Stiles for inviting Allison?
> 
> I am super duper sorry for the delay on this. I knew it was going to be late, I didn't anticipate it being more than a week late. My mistake! I was busier than I thought I would be before my operation, and the operation kind of kicked my ass. So. Sorry, again!
> 
> Next chapter will be next Monday, hopefully, because I like to try for consistency.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

Stiles is late getting to Erica's, a third floor apartment on the other side of town from Stiles'. When he knocks on the door, a case of beer in his other hand, he's hoping he's not too late. Being the last to arrive is bad enough, but he's hoping everyone else was also fashionably late.

Lydia, he's sure, wouldn't show up on time. Even to her boss's flat.

The door swings open and Erica glances him up and down, a skeptical frown on her face.

"You'll do," she says, reaching down and taking the case of beer out of his hand, then stepping aside for him to enter. "Everyone else is already here."

It's quiet inside the flat, music playing not quite loud enough to cover up the awkward silence. It's a strange group of people relaxing on assorted chairs in the living area. Stiles sits in the space between Lydia and Isaac on a comfortable looking sofa, tucking his elbows in so he doesn't intrude on personal space.

"You're late," Isaac drawls.

"I got held up," Stiles says, deliberately vague. He actually got distracted playing video games, but he's not going to admit that.

Erica throws him a beer can, which he catches just barely, and turns the volume down slightly on the music. He cracks open the can and takes a long swig. If he'd known it was going to be this difficult (with a group of people that are honestly pretty sociable usually) he would have pre-gamed the pre-gaming.

"We've got some rules," Erica says, sitting on the floor on the other side of the coffee table. "Lydia, Stiles, no lab talk. With me or each other. Tonight is for fun."

"That was only one rule," Isaac says.

"Right," Erica grins. "The second rule is that we all have to do shots, like right now."

Isaac sighs, and Erica gets up again before dropping five shot glasses and a bottle of vodka on the coffee table. She pours out the shots with a skill that makes Stiles think she probably worked as a bartender once, and then she pushes them towards each person.

"It's fancy vodka," Erica says. "After this it needs to get less weird in here."

Stiles throws his shot back at the same time as Erica, feeling the burn down his throat. He chases it with some beer and puts the shot glass back on the table.

"Allison," Stiles says. "Did Lydia tell you about my paperwork issue?"

Allison's eyes widen. "Wait, you're that Stiles?"

Stiles' brows furrow. "How many Stiles' do you know?"

Allison tilts her head to the side. "Point. Just didn't make the connection."

"Can you fix it?" Stiles presses, because he is all about seizing opportunities, even if he's never met Allison before. He's the only one making an effort to make conversation here, anyway.

"I'll talk to Danny," Allison says, smiling, and Stiles thinks he likes her. Thinks he can see what Scott saw in her, too, but that's a train of thought he doesn't want to go down, particularly.

"Don't say it," Lydia says sharply, seeing Stiles' face at the mention of Danny. Stiles pulls a face at her deliberately.

"Don't say what?" Isaac asks, from Stiles' other side.

Erica grins, and Stiles knows he's going to regret coming. As if Isaac doesn't already have enough ammunition for mocking Stiles. "Stiles always says how great Danny is every time he comes up in conversation. Danny rejected him, like, three times."

Stiles groans.

"You deserved that," Lydia says.

Stiles is indignant. "What for?"

"That outfit," Lydia tells him, which stings. He didn't think he looked too bad, and Erica had said he'd do at the door.

Fashion isn't something he's willing to fight Lydia on, though.

Allison asks Isaac about his current research project and the two of them make incredibly awkward conversation that Stiles honestly enjoys watching. He can't help but be distracted by Lydia, though, and how much she doesn't look like she's enjoying herself. Something's up with her, and even though it may be a little less than ethical, he thinks a bit of alcohol might be the best way to ply it out of her. It's a trick he used to use on his dad and even though it inspired a lot of guilt he's willing to use it again. It's for the best, he'll tell himself.

It's not like Lydia has no dirt on Stiles, anyway. She probably has a lifetimes worth of dirt on Stiles, and ample opportunity to make his life miserable. He's kind of lucky to have her, though. He could have ended up sharing a lab with Greenberg, and with Finstock as his advisor instead of Erica. That would be the worst.

Stiles watches Erica do two more shots before he starts to think maybe he should be concerned about her. Either that, or she drinks like this every time she goes out and that would be going some. None of them are 21 anymore, after all.

(Stiles is only 24, but 21 feels like a lifetime ago and he doesn't actually know how old Erica is.)

"I should have stayed home," Lydia mutters. "This is going to be embarrassing."

"Fun," Erica says. "It's going to be fun."

"Another shot?" Stiles says to Lydia, trying to lighten the mood. She rolls her eyes at him.

It looks like the night is going downhill already.

"I'll have another shot," Isaac says, leaning forward to pour himself one and throwing it back. At least he's getting into the spirit of things, Stiles finds himself thinking.

"Drinking games?" Allison says. She exchanges a sideways glance with Lydia and Stiles has a horrible feeling that he's doomed to lose this one, and lose it badly. It seems like inviting Lydia's best friend and partner in crime was a terrible idea, at least for Stiles. It might be the saving grace of the actual night out, though.

"Never have I ever," Erica announces, pouring vodka into all of the shot glasses on the table. "Lydia starts, because she's being a downer."

Lydia rolls her eyes again, but there's a hint of a smile tugging at her lips and Stiles feels a little better, now.

"Never have I ever stalked my crush through a college class," she says, pointedly looking at Stiles until he takes the shot, pouring himself another one immediately after.

Allison opens her mouth. "Never have I ever... hmm... worked towards a PhD."

Everyone except Allison tips shot glasses back into their mouths, and she looks a little smug about it.

"Never have I ever worked in admin," Erica shoots back, and Allison obligingly takes a shot.

She pulls a face afterwards. "You don't have any nicer liquor, Reyes?"

"This is good vodka," Erica insists. "It cost real money!"

"Instead of monopoly money?" Isaac asks, and Erica hits him.

Allison stands up from her chair to rifle through Erica's cupboards.

"Your turn, Isaac," Erica says.

Isaac makes a contemplative noise. "Never have I ever bottomed," Isaac says.

Erica whistles. "Whew, way to go explicit."

She takes the shot and Stiles can feel Erica's eyes on him as he feels the burn of vodka in his throat. He's pretty sure his cheeks are bright pink, too.

"Never have I ever been dumped," Stiles says.

"Is that because you've never had a boyfriend?" Isaac jibes, and Stiles sticks his tongue out at him, drunk enough to feel like being petulant.

Allison returns and takes a shot of something pink that Stiles doesn't recognize. "You've really never been dumped?" Allison asks.

Stiles shrugs. "Once it was mutual, twice I was the dumper."

Lydia opens her mouth for the first time since her turn. "I'm always the dumper," she says.

"To nobody's surprise," Erica says.

Stiles watches Allison shoot her a sharp look, and he's a little surprised by Lydia's complete non-reaction, too.

"Your turn, Lyds," he says gently. He's not sure when he felt comfortable enough to shorten her name, but it's happened and it's too late to stop it if Lydia decides to set him on fire because of it.

Lydia purses her lips. "Never have I ever..." she pauses, dragging it out. "Failed a class."

"You guys are seriously safe for work," Erica groans, taking a shot.

"You're our boss," Stiles reminds her, taking his own shot.

Everybody except Lydia takes a shot, and Stiles remembers how ridiculously intelligent she is and hates herself a little bit.

"Never have I ever been tied up during sex," Allison says, abruptly.

Erica's eyes widen and she goes a little pink as she takes her shot. Lydia doesn't make eye contact with anyone as she downs her own, and Stiles can't hide his surprise. Neither Erica or Lydia are people he'd consider submissive, but then he guesses he should know better than to assume...

"Never have I ever read Fifty Shades of Gray," Erica says.

Everyone groans.

"I'm out," Isaac says, standing up. "Can we go to the club, now?"

"You just don't want to admit you read all about Anastasia Steele," Erica says, grinning at him.

"You're drunk," Isaac tells her. "Come on, let's go. I've been wanting to see the inside of Nix forever."

Erica rolls her eyes but takes Isaac's hand to pull herself up. She's a little unsteady on her feet, but she makes a coherent call to a cab to reel off her address. Stiles still doesn't know what to expect from the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I was going to update earlier today but I got home from work and totally fell asleep. My bad.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Sorry this chapter was kind of all over the place, I'm not really used to writing groups of people. It's hard, okay? (Constructive criticism is welcomed.)


	9. Chapter 9

The queue for Nix is long and full of people who are dressed much more smartly than Stiles, but Erica confidently walks to the front of the queue to speak to the bouncer. She's swaying a little as she goes, the drunkest out of their whole group, but she makes it there unassisted.

Lydia looks a little like she's regretting those heels already.

"I can't believe you invited Allison," Isaac says to Stiles, under his breath.

"I'm being helpful," Stiles tells him. "You owe me."

"Do I hell," Isaac mutters, petulant to the last.

Erica's having an animated conversation with the bouncer, tossing her hair with a smile on her face. Stiles can see their little group getting dirty looks from people in the queue and he can only hope this isn't going to end badly. Eventually the bouncer nods and counts heads of their group, holding up five fingers to someone else in front of the queue. He steps aside and they walk forward.

Stiles is impressed. Even Lydia seems begrudgingly pleased, as they step into the entrance to the club they've all heard about but never been to. So far, Stiles hasn't seen anything that's particularly unlike other clubs he's been to, though he usually frequents gay clubs so there are a lot more women than he's used to.

"Grab a table," Erica says, pointing at the area to one side of the dance floor. "I'm getting shots."

Stiles finds himself exchanging a glance with Lydia, as if to say "more shots?" but there isn't time to object before Erica darts off. Calling after her would be useless with the volume of the music, anyway. He makes a hand gesture to Lydia, indicating that she should lead the way, and she nods, taking steps in the direction Erica pointed until the group of them crowd into a booth.

The seats aren't as sticky as in regular clubs, Stiles thinks, and the table is definitely cleaner.

Other than that he's yet to notice anything special about Nix.

Erica returns, triumphantly clutching a tray with both hands. She puts it on the table.

"Drink up," she says, throwing back her own.

"You're definitely trying to get us drunk," Isaac says, but he follows orders anyway.

Erica shrugs, and then slides into the booth beside Stiles, leaving him sandwiched between Erica and Lydia. There really isn't enough room to move, and Stiles is vaguely uncomfortable. The heat of the club is already getting overwhelming and he knows - he just knows - that they're going to force him to dance with them at some point.

"Me and Boyd are on a break," Erica announces abruptly, after Lydia and Allison have swallowed the shots Erica bought.

Out of all of them, only Isaac is close friends with Erica. The other three of them are just colleagues - they've never even socialized out of work with Erica before. No wonder she's losing it, Stiles finds himself thinking.

"Why?" he asks, mouth dry. Boyd may not particularly like him, but he can still be supportive to Erica.

Erica points at the lone full shot glass still on the table and Stiles picks it up and feels the taste of the alcohol burn his throat.

"I'm not sure," she says, and her voice cracks a bit and she looks like she might be close to tears. Stiles wonders if he's meant to put his arm around her now.

Isaac slides out from his end of the booth and crouches beside Erica.

"It's Boyd," he tells her, seriously, and christ Stiles is glad he's here. "You two have been together since high school. You're meant to be."

"Then why am I here, drunk, with you guys instead of curled up at home with him?"

"You invited us," Allison points out, not very kindly. Lydia elbows her, and Stiles wonders how well Allison actually knows Erica, if at all.

"Because you wanted to be around different people," Stiles offers.

Erica nods, seeming to collect herself. "You're right. I need space, from that whole situation. Space."

She pauses, and then glances between Isaac and Allison. "You two," she announces, imperiously. "Go buy more shots."

Stiles snorts and Isaac rises to his feet so fast it probably gives him headrush. The two of them set off to the other end of the club and from here, Stiles thinks they might be gone awhile. The queue for the bar is long.

"At least your relationship drama isn't as messy as mine," Lydia says, and Stiles has to look at her to make sure it's the same Lydia he knows sitting right next to him.

"Sure, little miss never-been-dumped," Erica says, but there's a smile on her face.

When Lydia opens her mouth again, it's oddly candid. "Cora gave me an ultimatum. My work, or her. I choose my work."

"You could spend less time on your PhD," Erica says. "You're way ahead of schedule and you're already on low hours."

Lydia glances between the bar and Erica.

"Don't tell Allison," she says, in a rush. "But I'm not just doing a PhD."

"I knew it," Stiles declares. "How many PhD's do you already have? Three?"

Lydia rolls her eyes but it brings a small smile to her face, so Stiles feels a sense of success.

"I run a fashion company. That's what takes up all my free time. I'm doing the business end and the design end."

Stiles feels his jaw drop. Lydia calmly puts two fingers beneath his chin until his mouth closes with an audible click.

"And nobody knows?" He asks, incredulous.

Lydia shrugs. "I want my scientific exploits and my fashion interests to be kept separate."

"Are you turning a profit?" Erica asks, leaning forward and looking interested, even though her elbow slips off when she tries to rest it on the table.

Lydia tilts her head to the side. "Just about. But it made a loss last year."

Stiles whistles. "You've been keeping this a secret for two years?"

"A year and a half," Lydia corrects. "I made my choice."

"You lost your girlfriend because of that," Erica slurs, still leaning forward unsteadily. "You're hurting yourself."

Lydia swallows.

"I wanted to wait until it was a success," she says.

"Lyds," Stiles says softly.

"Because I'm good at Biology and I know I'm going to get this PhD in no time," Lydia says, as if Stiles hadn't interrupted. "But I don't want people to judge me for trying fashion as well. Especially if I fail."

"Isn't Allison supposed to be your best friend?"

Lydia shuts her eyes and leans back. "I know she wouldn't judge me," she says. "But I needed to do it on my own."

"Fiercely independent means you've got issues," Erica says, loudly. She's definitely had too much to drink. "That's why me and Boyd aren't working."

Stiles is sandwiched between two girls who are having relationship crises. He is definitely not equipped for this.

"Why not hire an accountant?" Stiles poses to Lydia. He'll try and untangle Erica's mess later, maybe, if he can talk her into providing a few more details.

"I tried," Lydia says. "None of them met my requirements."

Erica leans on Stiles' shoulder. "I've read her CV," she says. "Double majored in Biology and Maths."

Stiles closes his eyes. He's starting to get the feeling he's going to have to walk Erica home, at the rate she's going.

"Lower your standards," Stiles tells Lydia.

Lydia looks like she's going to argue when Allison and Isaac slide back into the booth, carrying more drinks between the two of them. She doesn't say anything at all, presumably hoping the topic will change and she won't have to reveal her secret.

"What were you guys talking about?"

"Relationship drama," Erica says. "Why all of us are single."

"You're not single," Isaac says. "You're on a break."

Erica narrows her eyes, picking her head up off Stiles' shoulder to point accusingly at Isaac. "Do you side with Ross or Rachel?"

"Oh my god," Allison says. "Can we dance? Please?"

"You just bought drinks," Erica points out.

"Not for you," Isaac says. "You're drunk. I got you some water."

Erica pulls a face but takes the glass Isaac pushes toward her, and the rest of them pick up the remaining drinks.

"Dancing," Isaac says, standing up again.

"We might not get this booth again," Erica says. "It's getting crowded."

"Have you formed an attachment?" Allison teases.

Erica drinks her water quickly, leaving the empty glass on the table, and Lydia still looks a little morose as they start towards the dance floor. It takes a little while but eventually they start getting into the rhythm of dancing, Allison and Lydia staying close together. The music is loud and it's hot and crowded on the dance floor, but it's an atmosphere that Stiles has always enjoyed.

"I have a plan," Erica yells in Stiles' ear after a little while.

He frowns at her, without saying anything.

"To get Lydia and Cora back together."

"We don't even know Cora," Stiles yells back, over the thumping beat of a song he doesn't recognize.

"To make Lydia happy," Erica amends.

Stiles raises an eyebrow.

"Trust me," Erica shouts. "I'll tell you all about it on the taxi ride home."

Stiles figures at this stage it's probably best to go along with Erica's plan. She can be forceful at the best of times, and she's both drunk and his boss.

Lydia and Erica both seem to perk up with the dancing, and a few more drinks are had before they all go their separate ways. Stiles is drunk, but not overly so, and they split off into two groups to catch taxis.

Isaac stays with Allison, and Stiles has to wonder if progress has been made there.

"Tell me about your plan," Stiles says to Erica, getting into the backseat of a cab with her.

"First, we find out what Lydia's business is called," Erica says. "And then we find out which accountants she's rejected."

"This is sounding complicated already," Stiles says.

Erica grins at him. "And then we get her to TALK to Cora!"

"That's your whole plan?" Stiles asks, dazedly.

Erica nods. "It's perfect. Everything will work out fine."

She's leaning heavily against his shoulder, and Stiles reaches an arm up to stroke her hair.

Maybe he come up with his own plan to sort out whatever the problem between her and Boyd is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! We have subplots! And the source of Lydia's angst is revealed! 
> 
> Sorry for the late update I got caught up playing Skyrim. Update next Monday, as per.


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles spends Sunday not hungover, but still exhausted. He sleeps through the morning and remembers to phone his dad around two, and then he starts thinking about all the things his friends had said last night.

Because he thinks they might be his friends now, Erica and Lydia.

He doesn't know how to fix Erica and Boyd. He knows that Boyd already dislikes him, but he also knows that the two of them are soulmates. They've been together since high school, as far as Stiles has heard, and while they have arguments they're always easily smoothed over.

He can't help but wonder what went wrong, and he thinks maybe he should talk to Erica about it. He's not sure his interference will be all that welcome, though, so he thinks he'll run the idea by Lydia first.

Lydia's issues are more complicated. She's running some kind of fashion business, Stiles is pretty sure she said, although the club was loud and the alcohol has blurred his memory a little.

Running a fashion business and lying about it to all her friends, he's reasonably sure, and Stiles wants to fix that desperately. He's not used to seeing Lydia look unsure of herself, and she'd been like that last night. That, and she's been unhappier and unhappier as the months they've shared a lab have gone on. It's probably not a result of proximity to Stiles, but something to do with keeping secrets and whatever Lydia had with Cora.

He remembers something about Erica suggesting they find out the name of Lydia's company so that's where he decides to start, although he doesn't know a lot about it. He doesn't know anyone with any experience in setting up a company or where the records are, so he starts with google.

It takes a few tries and a few different combination of searches, but eventually he finds a search tool that he can just put Lydia's name in to find it. It's buried in the state business website but he manages to type in Lydia Martin.

It only comes up with one result and his eyebrows rise a little on his forehead when he spots the name.

What Lydia had failed to mention about her fashion company was that it was lingerie design she specialized in, apparently.

Banshee Lingerie Ltd, owned by Ms Lydia Martin MSc.

He types it into google and discovers a well designed website (he can't help but wonder if with Lydia's wide range of talents she'd done all the coding herself, too) with a lot of pictures of barely dressed women.

He doesn't know if he can find her finance records online, and honestly, he's not sure if he's willing to try, but he types Cora's name into facebook out of curiosity. He's not even facebook friends with Lydia yet, he realizes, and then he gets a notification to tell him Erica's tagged him in some photos from last night.

It seems an opportune time as any to add Lydia on facebook, and see if she's the type of person to delete all of the photos featuring her ex from facebook. He doesn't think she is, but it's always nice to get that confirmation.

And the following day he's going to... he doesn't know what. Maybe he's just going to get her to try and talk to him. Maybe get her to join him in helping Erica. It's not his job to make everyone in his life happy, but Erica's his boss and he owes her, and Lydia's doing her best to help him out with the Scott mess. He still hasn't decided how he's going to manage that work alongside his PhD. It's going to be a big ask and it's not like he can even explain to Scott why he's got a heavy workload.

He doesn't want to fail, though.

He doesn't want to fail Scott.

Scott's going to start setting homework this week, though, and they'll be working towards a bigger project. It'll stop being a minor distraction, something enjoyable and a chance to get closer to Scott, and it'll become something a lot more time consuming.

He made a commitment to Isaac, though, and he thinks they had a plan that wasn't completely terrible. He needs to befriend Scott, and then socialize with him outside of class, and then come clean.

It just feels so... unnatural. It's not a relationship that's developing normally if Stiles is orchestrating the whole thing behind the scenes. That makes him uncomfortable.

He wonders if maybe he should come clean now and admit the whole pretense and play it up like a joke. He knows there's a risk that if he tells Scott too late it'll feel like a betrayal. Hell, Stiles already feels like he's betraying Scott.

But if he comes clean too soon, there's a risk that Scott will dismiss him as a creepy stalker and never want anything to do with him. And honestly, Stiles can't believe he's so hung up on a guy he saw through a window - or that his friends have encouraged him to something that is certifiably stalkery - but he is. He doesn't want to lose any chance of things working out with Scott.

So he's going to have to work out his timing perfectly.

And in the short term, he can distract himself with his PhD, and with Lydia and Erica. Isaac might throw a spanner or two in the works because Isaac likes to fuck with him, but Stiles is going to try.

He can't fail this PhD thing, not after all the time he's poured into it. Especially since the college let him take time off to look after his dad when he was sick. He's already behind schedule on his incredibly vague ten year plan. He's stretching it to fifteen, now, and considering crossing kids off the list.

Coming back after a year in Beacon Hills had been hard, partly because a lot of his friends had moved on or lost touch with him. There were still people around who he occasionally poked on facebook and people he had history with, period - he's known Erica for a long time now, though this year is the first he's worked closely with her. He's starting to feel like he's making connections again on campus after his break, especially after last night.

Even if he's the butt of a lot of jokes.

The other reason coming back to college was hard was because his ex unofficially got custody of a lot of their mutual friends. It was a pretty bitter break up and the circumstances were bad but the break in Beacon Hills couldn't have come at a better time. He needed that space to move on and figure his shit out.

Maybe that's why he wants to fix Lydia and Erica's relationships. He knows that Erica and Boyd work together. They're not like Stiles and his ex, they don't have passive aggression and complicated messes and terrible coping mechanisms. He's seen Erica and Boyd when they're good together and they're amazing.

He can't imagine them not working.

Lydia, he thinks, just needs to have something in her life other than her work. Her work clearly isn't making her as happy as it should, for all that she's aggressively intelligent. He doesn't think she's got a lot of friends, either, just Allison.

It occurs to Stiles that Lydia mentioned Scott knowing the Hales.

If he's going to try and help Lydia, maybe he should start with Scott. Scott might know more about Lydia and Cora, and why they broke up and if they were good together. Stiles gets the impression that Lydia's a little too self-aware to cling to a relationship that was making her unhappy, but he knows everyone has their weak points.

And it gives Stiles something to talk to Scott about. Something to actually progress his plan.

The only issue is he needs to come up with an excuse for knowing Lydia. He's going to need to come up with a reason for knowing everyone he knows, at some point, because he can either lie about how he knows them or he can lie and pretend he has no friends. The latter is definitely the worse option of the two, because he's still lying and he looks tragic.

He needs to win Scott over. And if Scott can help him out with Lydia, it's kind of perfect.

Stiles wonders if Scott knows Erica or Boyd, too, but he doesn't want to push it. The worst thing would be Scott seeing him as some kind of match maker and asking to be set up.

Isaac would probably laugh at his pain, endlessly.

Stiles decides to text Erica the details of Lydia's business and mention that he's come up with a plan for finding out more information. If nothing else, he can gauge how much Erica remembers from last night and if she's embarrassed.

All that's left to do on his Sunday is mentally prepare for the week ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LOTS OF INTROSPECTION I'M SORRY
> 
> I promise Scott's back next chapter!


	11. Chapter 11

Stiles opts to play it cool on Monday and Tuesday, until he can talk to Scott and find out more about Cora. He mentions, in passing, Lydia's business. He gets a sharp look and a vague misdirection, and that's it.

He's given instructions on taking Erica's class on Wednesday, and Erica is vague as hell about Boyd. It's suspicious but Stiles doesn't want to push it by pressing too far. He thinks maybe he can get some details from Isaac - he'd seemed invested on Saturday night, at least.

He's prepared a back story for Scott, and he's rehearsing it in his head as he makes his way to his Tuesday class. It's theoretical, so he knows there will be less time for chatting, but he hopes he can draw Scott into a conversation about Lydia and Cora somehow.

He's early again, and he sits at the front of class like always, but the pottery wheel is gone and there aren't any lumps of clay on the table to collect. Scott's lounging in his chair, reading through something on the desk and Stiles takes the time to admire him when he's not paying attention.

Normally either Stiles is supposed to be paying attention or Scott will notice Stiles leering at him, so this is the first real chance Stiles has had to... enjoy the view, close up. Not creepily through the windows of the biology department.

Scott gives off kind of an aura of happy. He just seems to genuinely enjoy everything he does, and Stiles is sure the book in front of him can't be that interesting. But Scott seems comfortable in himself, and that's attractive.

That's really fucking attractive.

Eventually, the class is full and Scott stands at the front. There's a screen behind him and a projector on the desk, and Stiles is prepared for a dull lecture on something about clay.

"Thanks for showing up," Scott says brightly. "I told you guys this on Thursday, but to recap, we'll be doing some theory today to work towards a final project. First, your final project is a sculpture on the theme of emotion. It needs to express a strong emotion or evoke one in the viewer. I'll talk more about that later."

Scott pauses, glances down at his desk. He turns on the projector and steps aside so the first slide can be shown on the screen.

He starts to run through history of sculpture, when the first sculpture was estimated to be created and who the most famous sculptors are. Stiles takes notes when he remembers, but mostly he gets lost in the honey tones of Scott's voice.

He breaks up the lecture with some question and answer sessions, and Stiles does, remarkably, feel like he's learnt something at the end of the lesson.

Scott meets his eyes as he's ending the class, and Stiles lingers behind as everyone packs up their things.

"Something you needed, Stiles?" Scott asks, leaning against his desk.

"I talked to Allison about my paperwork," Stiles says. It's as good an opener as any, he figures. "It should be fixed now."

"Yeah, I checked last night and I could put in your attendance fine," Scott says.

Stiles pauses. "I actually wanted to talk to you about Lydia. Allison's friend?"

"I don't usually talk about my colleagues with students," Scott says, brow furrowed. Stiles knows Lydia isn't exactly a colleague of Scott's but he respects the professionalism. Maybe Scott's trying to keep a boundary there, and Stiles feels slightly uncomfortable with the efforts he's making to break down that barrier.

"We're friends," Stiles says. "Me and Lydia, I mean."

"Even so..." Scott says, looking uncertain.

Stiles doesn't want to push it, so he blunders on. "She mentioned you knew the Hales? And I got the impression that she had a bad break up, or something. With Cora?"

"I'm better friends with Derek," Scott says. "And this really isn't appropriate."

"Scott," Stiles says. "I'm trying to help Lydia. I want to get them back together."

"It's complicated," Scott says. "And I can't imagine Lydia being friends with an undergraduate."

"She's all marshmallow inside," Stiles says, sarcastically. "She's helping me with my thesis. Erica, too. We're worried about her."

Scott frowns. "She has seemed quieter lately."

"Exactly," Stiles says. "Sometimes she's even nice to me. Something isn't right."

"So when you said you were friends..." Scott trails off.

Stiles pauses, bites his lip, and takes a risk. "I'd like to be her friend. She's an amazing academic, and we're in similar fields. But it feels like this thing with Cora might be holding her back."

Scott screws up his forehead like he's trying to figure out how to break something to Stiles gently.

"I don't know Cora that well," he says. "I'm close with her brother - he works in the art department here too - but I don't have any answers for you about Cora."

"You could ask Derek, then?" Stiles asks, hopeful.

Scott narrows his eyes. "This isn't some ploy to get in with Derek, is it?"

"What?"

"Derek has dozens of students sign up for his classes every year and profess their love for him," Scott sighs.

Stiles snorts. "If Derek Hale was my type, I would have signed up for his class."

"So you're really doing this out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Not entirely," Stiles says. "When Lydia's pissed off she criticizes my work more. It destroys my self esteem."

"This class doesn't?" Scott asks.

Stiles laughs. "I thought teaching staff were meant to be complimentary about students' work?"

"I already know you're just taking it for the credits," Scott says easily. "But if that was hurtful, I'm sorry. Everyone sucks when they start out."

"Even you?" Stiles asks. It feels like they might be on the edge of flirting, and he can't believe it's worked out so perfectly. He's going to help Lydia and have a reason to talk to Scott. More reasons, even. Multiple ways to start a conversation so he won't even look desperate.

Like he said, perfect.

"Even me," Scott says, smiling. "I think my mom still has the first clay ashtray I shaped for her in preschool, and she doesn't even smoke."

"You started in preschool," Stiles says. "That's a huge headstart! Unfair."

"Handicap?" Scott asks.

"You give me an A," Stiles says, in a joking tone.

Scott laughs, losing his balance against the table and slipping against Stiles slightly. The warmth of his body is overwhelming and Stiles wants to take a step closer once Scott's rebalanced himself, but he can't.

He can't allow himself to, not yet.

"You'll have to actually try to get an A in this class, Stiles," Scott says.

Stiles pulls a face, mock outraged. "Are you implying I don't try in other classes?"

"It's your senior year, right?" Scott asks.

"Yeah," Stiles says. "Graduating in May." 100% a lie, and Stiles feels a pang of guilt at how easily Scott accepts it.

"How come you didn't get all your requirements out of the way earlier?" Scott asks. "Most people do, and then they're not scrambling in their last year."

"Ah," Stiles says. "So you think I don't try in other classes just because I left this one late."

Scott shrugs. "Prove me wrong," he says easily. He's so relaxed, Stiles envies him.

Also, he's probably not lying to someone he likes.

"I'm very studious," Stiles insists. "I just missed the class registration deadline. It's only through Allison that I even managed to get into this class."

"How many times did you miss the class registration deadline?" Scott jokes. "Three semesters in a row?"

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Fine, fine. You win. I'm a disorganized mess. At least I'm punctual."

"You do always show up on time," Scott says.

He glances at the clock behind Stiles' head, and swears softly.

"Sorry Stiles, I've got to go," he says. He sounds apologetic but Stiles can tell he's running on automatic now. "I'm late to meet Derek, actually."

"You'll ask him about Cora?" Stiles asks, and Scott starts packing up his things.

"I will," Scott says, flashing Stiles a brief smile. Stiles takes that as his cue to exit and throws his bag over his shoulder.

He doesn't say anything to Scott as he leaves, just lets the door shut behind him. It's a long walk home and it's dark out, so he doesn't notice the person leaning by the wall as he walks by until they call out to him.

"Hey, was Scott McCall in there?" he asks.

Stiles swallows, and turns around. "He's just coming out, actually."

Derek Hale nods at him, and Stiles turns around and starts walking again as soon as he sees the door swing open for a second time.

"Who was that?" He hears Derek ask Scott, and he tries not to noticably slow his pace. He wants to hear Scott's answer. It's childish, but he does.

"A student," Scott says. "He's cool, though. Knows Lydia."

Though Stiles is sure that's just a segue into asking about Cora and Lydia, he can't help but feel a little bubble of hope rising inside him when Scott doesn't dismiss him out of hand.

Now he just has to build on that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I don't know when the next chapter will be up because I've been working on a separate project and I thought I'd built up more than a buffer than I had.
> 
> But I hope the interaction between Scott and Stiles makes that hurt a little less :)


	12. Chapter 12

"How was class?" Lydia asks, when Stiles strolls in. He's running late (again) and he's taking Erica's class for the first time today and he is panicking slightly.

He doesn't know how to teach. He doesn't even know how he got his own undergrad degree, he's definitely not prepared to help someone else with theirs.

"Fine," Stiles says, distractedly, rummaging through his desk looking for the lesson plan Erica left him with.

"That good, huh?" Lydia says. Stiles stills and glances up.

"It was a class," Stiles says. "I stayed behind to talk to him afterwards."

Lydia raises her eyebrows. If Stiles didn't know her better he'd say she almost looked impressed. "Flirt?"

Stiles shrugs. He isn't sure. Scott seems to be kind to everyone, including Stiles. Any familiarity - he doesn't know Scott well enough to pin it down.

"He's a nice guy," Stiles says carefully, edging around the question.

Lydia waves a hand dismissively. "You don't want to talk about how awkward you were, I get it."

Stiles blinks, but he doesn't disagree. He makes an aha sound when he finds the piece of paper Erica had given him, and scans through it. It's simple stuff, biology he learnt years ago. Some of it is even related to his thesis.

"Erica said she emailed you a power point," Lydia says coolly, having turned back to her screen.

Stiles collapses in his seat. "Thank fuck," he exhales, and Lydia snorts. "She's already been in and I missed her?"

"Check the clock," Lydia says. "I think she was hoping you were late because you got laid, to be fair."

"Erica is always hoping someone got laid," Stiles says, as he clicks through to his emails to find Erica's slideshow. "It's in her blood."

"I bet Boyd misses that," Lydia says, and Stiles looks up at her sharply.

"Low blow," he says softly.

Lydia shrugs. "You've been dying to ask me about what happened on Saturday night," she says. "Seemed as good an opener as any."

"You are an impossible woman," Stiles says, eyes wide.

Lydia smirks. "You are definitely not the first person to tell me that. Go on, ask."

"I don't even know where to start." Stiles hums. "How long were you and Cora together? Wait, no, tell me about your business?"

"For a while," Lydia says carefully. "Two years. Allison hated her at first."

"And nobody knows about the business?"

"Nobody but you and Erica," Lydia says. "And if you tell anyone you will suddenly, inexplicably disappear."

"I want to help."

Lydia raises her eyebrows. "With fashion?"

"You helped me with my Scott problem. I want to help you with your Cora problem."

Lydia's face closes off a little. "There's no problem," she says. "We're over. Done and dusted."

"Yeah, because you sound thrilled about that," Stiles says, sarcastically.

"I love my work," Lydia says. "Every part of it. The experiments, the accounting, and the design. I don't want to give any of it up."

"You love accounting?" Stiles asks incredulously.

"The numbers have clear, concrete answers," Lydia says. "They fit together like a fantastic puzzle."

"And Cora doesn't fit in that puzzle," Stiles says quietly.

Lydia shakes her head.

"What does Cora do for a living?" Stiles asks.

Lydia snorts. "She's a freelance photographer, but she mostly bartends."

"I still don't understand why you won't just talk to her," Stiles says.

Lydia shrugs. "It's none of your business, anyway," she says, but her tone is warm, not rude.

Stiles glances at the clock and swears again, loudly. "I'm going to be late for this undergrad thing. I'm getting lunch with Isaac and we're going to scheme about Erica and Boyd. You want in?"

Lydia shakes her head, glancing at her computer. "I don't understand your need to be involved in everybody else's relationships."

"I'm on a mission to get people laid," Stiles says. "I'm hoping it will reflect well on me, y'know, karmically."

Lydia laughs. "If that works out for you, I'll be impressed."

Stiles throws her a grin before collecting his bits of paper and hoping he can find this stupid undergrad classroom. It's buried in a maze of tiny corridors, the likes of which Stiles hasn't had to go through in more than a year, so finding the classroom isn't easy.

He's still five minutes early, but that doesn't give him a lot of time to set up the projector as dull eyed undergraduate students start filing into the classroom. There's only one or two who actually look interested in the course, but Stiles gets it. His Gen Ed requirements were a bitch too.

He loads up the slide show and introduces himself. He'd been a little worried Erica would decide to sit in - as his supervisor, she has every right to, and it is her class - but she's clearly decided he can handle it.

Or she'll show up later just to fuck with him.

He runs through the information and the students start to look engaged, and he lets them go five minutes early when he realizes he's run out of things to say. He tells them Erica will email them some work to do, and makes sure he's the first out the door.

He's probably supposed to wait for them in case they want to ask him any questions, but he's going to be late for lunch with Isaac and they have some scheming they need to do. The students have his email, anyway.

Isaac is already seated in the cafeteria when Stiles gets there, and Stiles lands next to him, pulling a sandwich from his bag.

Isaac raises his eyebrows. "Hey," he says, with no inflection.

Stiles throws him a sharp grin. "Don't you owe me a thank you for inviting Allison?"

"A thank you?" Isaac asks. "It was really awkward."

"You got to talk to her," Stiles says, not trying to hide how smug he is.

"And let me guess, now I owe you," Isaac sighs.

"We're matchmaking," Stiles tells him, before taking a bite of his sandwich. It's not until Isaac wrinkles his nose at him that he realizes he's chewing with his mouth open.

"Matchmaking who?"

Stiles swallows. "Erica and Boyd, and Lydia and Cora."

"I don't think it's matchmaking when they've already dated," Isaac says.

"Whatever," Stiles says, waving the hand containing his hand dismissively. "We're going to fix their relationships."

"What for?"

"Good romantic karma," Stiles says. "Also, Cora gives me an in with Scott and Lydia gives you an in with Allison."

"And Erica and Boyd?"

Stiles shrugs. "They've been together forever. We at least need to investigate what went wrong."

Isaac puts a fry from his plate in his mouth and chews it thoughtfully. "Okay, I'm in."

"Tell me about Cora and Lydia," Stiles says.

"Me and Derek lived together for a bit and Cora came over for dinner sometimes. Never brought Lydia, but I got the impression it was just a family thing."

"She talked about her, though?"

Isaac shrugged. "There were together for what felt like ages, but the breakup was pretty bitter."

"Lydia said they broke up because she chose her work over Cora."

Isaac nods, and gestures with his fry. "That's pretty much it. Except she was also a massive bitch about it and Cora had suspicions Lydia was cheating on her."

Stiles frowns. "So why does Cora want to get serious?"

"Again. Get serious again. Whatever Lydia told you about keeping it casual was a lie."

Stiles makes a contemplative noise. "She thinks she's better than us."

Isaac gives him a look like he's an idiot, which, to be fair, he is kind of stating the obvious.

"I have no idea why Cora wants Lydia back. Or why anyone would, if she was acting the way Cora said."

Stiles shrugs. He knows what Lydia was hiding from Cora, but he can't tell Isaac that. Although there's a good chance Lydia really was a massive bitch about it.

"I should get Scott to find out," Stiles says. "He's friends with Derek, right."

"They're really close," Isaac says, leaning back in his chair. "If I didn't know Derek I'd say you might have competition."

"Scott's very protective of him," Stiles says. He knows his voice is coming out slightly dreamy but he can't help it. "He warned me off him."

"Maybe he just doesn't want to spend more time with you," Isaac says, and Stiles throws a piece of lettuce at him.

"I thought we were working together," Stiles says, petulantly.

Isaac waves a hand. "I've heard lots of helping you out and not much helping me out."

"First," Stiles says, holding a finger up. "If you help Lydia out I'm sure she'll help you out." He holds up a second figure. "And isn't this giving you a good opener for talking to Allison?"

"Hi, my stalker friend wants to get your best friend back together with her ex, can you help?" Isaac says, sarcasm in every syllable.

"Well, not with that attitude," Stiles says, wrinkling his nose.

"I got her number," Isaac admits, almost shy with it. He takes a sip of coffee after he speaks, ducking his face into the cup.

"Have you used it?" Stiles asks.

"It was just as friends," Isaac says. "Nothing more."

Stiles winces. "How did that happen?"

Isaac purses his lips. "I don't want to talk about it."

"So I guess we're back to helping me then," Stiles says, fighting off a smile.

Isaac rolls his eyes, and somehow the conversation moves on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry about the delay on this one, oops. I went on holiday. 
> 
> But we should be back to weekly updates from now on!
> 
> Thanks for reading.


	13. Chapter 13

On Thursday morning Stiles is on time and even in a good mood. He's got class this evening, which makes him stupidly excited. He feels like he's in high school again, it's embarrassing.

He can hear Erica singing in the corridor and judging by the volume, she's approaching their office.

"Morning," she says, leaning against the doorway of their office.

"You're in a good mood," Lydia says dryly.

"I got laid," Erica says.

Stiles can't help it, he exchanges a sharp glance with Lydia.

"How come?" He asks, carefully.

"Isaac talked to Boyd, apparently," Erica says. "Apparently made some good arguments."

"I'm really happy for you," Stiles says, though he's a little pissed Isaac has stolen his opportunity for good relationship karma.

"It was great sex," Erica muses, staring into the middle distance. Lydia groans and Erica rolls her eyes and snaps out of it. "Anyway, Stiles, I need to talk to you. My office?"

"Sure," Stiles says, standing up. He hasn't had time to set up anything so there's at least no danger of him knocking anything over as he pushes his chair back.

Erica is oddly quiet on the walk to the office, not teasing him at all, and Stiles is a little concerned. He sits down opposite her and waits for her to say something, rubbing his scalp with one hand.

"I got some feedback from my students," she says. Stiles chews at his lip. He should have known she'd be spying on him one way or another. "You're not a great teacher."

"It was my first class," Stiles says. "I was nervous."

"You also didn't take questions, acted like you didn't give a shit, and left the room as soon as you could."

"I was late for lunch with Isaac," Stiles grumbles.

"Yeah, that only explains the last one," Erica says. "Look, Stiles, I like you. But deadlines are coming up and you're still fucking around. If you can't handle the class, you just have to say."

"I can handle it," Stiles says firmly. He needs to be able to handle it.

"Okay," Erica says. "But to make sure, I want you to put the first draft of your submission to the journal on my desk next Friday. And I'll stay late with you on Tuesday to help you prepare for your class."

Stiles swallows. "Next Friday?"

"Yes, Stiles," Erica says.

Stiles had been warned that Erica could occasionally morph into a hardass but he wasn't expecting this. This is... terrifying.

"What about my Tuesday class?" Stiles says, his brain catching up with what Erica said.

Erica shrugs. "It's one class. It's not like you need to pass it anyway."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I got Isaac to help you out with your love life," he grumbles.

"Hey," Erica snaps. "My shit doesn't interfere with my work, does it?"

"No," Stiles mutters.

"Yours does. And that needs to stop, Stiles, I don't care how much entertainment it provides, this is important."

Stiles looks down at his hands. He feels even more like a high schooler now than earlier. He thought there was an understanding in the department, and it's not like he's that far behind.

"Sorry," he says. "What time do the labs shut? How late can I stay?"

"They get locked at 10pm," Erica says. "But it isn't worth coming back after your ceramics class."

"You're not going to demand I drop it?" Stiles asks. He's a little scared to put the idea in her head, but it's worth mentioning.

Erica snorts. "No, I'm not that against it. And it does provide entertainment."

"You just enjoy my pain."

"Look, if you think you need to drop it in order to keep on top of your workload, that is up to you," Erica says. "But I'm not going to force you too."

"Thanks," Stiles says quietly.

Erica shrugs. "I don't mean to be a bitch," she says. She pauses. "Well, only sometimes. Right now, I don't mean to be a bitch. But your work is sloppy and this shit is important, okay?"

"Got it," Stiles says. "I'll focus and get up to date."

Erica sighs. "Don't tell Lydia I told you this," she says. "I don't want to stress her out. We're getting our funding cut, probably."

"Shit," Stiles says.

"Yeah," Erica agrees.

Stiles bites his lip. "This publication? It'll help, right?"

Erica nods.

"Can I come into the lab on the weekend to work on it?"

"I'll have to give you a key," Erica says. She hums. "We can organize that."

Stiles swallows. "I want to help."

"We're not at worst case scenario situations yet," Erica says, a smile on her face. 

"If we were, I'd be allowed to tell Lydia, right?"

Erica grins. "We should see if her business can do a biology grant."

"Because there's a huge amount of algae in lingerie," Stiles says, sardonically.

Erica rolls her eyes. "Get to work, Stilinski."

Stiles faux-salutes and immediately regrets it. It's a stupid move and he can see on Erica's face that she's just barely resisting the urge to make fun of him. Maybe she feels sorry for him.

God, that's even worse.

He leaves Erica's office feeling a little deflated but when he sits down at his desk he knows what he needs to do. He needs to make a plan. He doesn't even have a first draft of this article - shit, he hasn't even finished the research - but if he's serious about it, and if he closes the blinds, he might actually get on top of it.

"What was that all about?" Lydia asks, as Stiles takes his seat as his desk.

"Apparently I'm not a very good teacher," Stiles says. 

It feels a little rude, but today Stiles needs to put his headphones in and focus. He starts with making a list. It has subheading and priority levels and everything, he's pretty proud of it. 

He opens the file on his computer tentatively named publishable.docx. It's a messy document and he hasn't even started on his bibliography - and he definitely needs to head to the library - but it's got the important bits. The hypothesis he's testing, his introduction, and a brief table of his results so far. It hasn't been updated in a long while from his messy scribbled notes, and those haven't been updated in a while from his petri dishes.

He begins to deconstruct the stack of petri dishes, sorting them by color. He's childishly proud of his system for organizing these ones, though he knows Lydia thinks the color coding was a step too far.

He doesn't break a single one and he is suddenly, fervently grateful for the fact that he remembered to take his meds this morning. He's only felt tempted to look out the window like, twice. Definitely a success story. He puts the results straight into the table on his paper and starts typing away, drawing conclusions from the data he's got so far.

There's still a little more to come - he knows the final few days are crucial in this experiment - and he still has some more of the fun part to do, as well. 

He knows the journal has a fairly strict word limit and Stiles has never been good at sticking to those, so he tries to be sparse with his language. He fails, naturally, but he thinks Erica will be willing to help him with that. 

If he can get the first draft done by Friday, he's hoping Erica will be an actual superhero and make his draft publishable.

He just has to focus. He had known it would come to this eventually, choosing between his Scott scheming and his actual job. He's kind of surprised it didn't happen sooner, or straight away, really, but then his direct supervisor is always in support of ridiculous schemes. He's pretty sure all of Erica's hobbies involve making fun of someone. 

It's the looming deadline which reminds him to send off a text to Isaac, telling him that there are exemptions in their deal for PhD drama. When he's finished, he puts his phone face down and on silent - not even vibrate - on his desk, so if Isaac replies he won't even know about it.

He stays pretty focused on his work for the rest of the day. He doesn't even take a proper lunch break, just eats a sandwich in front of his computer. He's so focused that Lydia has to click her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. 

"Stiles," she says, yanking his earphones out of his ear. "While I appreciate your newfound work ethic, have you checked the time lately?"

Stiles' eyes drop to the corner of the screen. It takes a beat to register, and then he swears loudly. 

"Do I look okay, Lyds?" He asks. 

Lydia shoots him a glance at the nickname but doesn't comment, instead looking him up and down. "He might as well know now that you have no fashion sense," she says, sighing.

Stiles rolls his eyes but it feels like Lydia almost gave him her tacit approval.

"Thanks for not letting my skip it," Stiles says, as he grabs his bag.

"One of us needs to get laid," Lydia says. "I'll walk out with you."

"I told Scott we were friends," Stiles says.

Lydia's forehead creases. "Why would you do that, exactly?"

Stiles shrugs. "I said you were helping me with my thesis. It seemed like a useful connection to Allison."

It's not quite the truth, but it's close enough that it will do. This is a selfish lie, which makes it worse than the one he told for Erica earlier, anyway.

"Just as well it won't be awkward when he sees us together," Lydia says. She nods her head down the corridor, where Scott is walking in front of them.

Stiles takes a moment to appreciate his form before Lydia elbows him. 

"You're leering," Lydia tells him.

"See you tomorrow, Lyds," he says, not even attempting to deny it, as the two of them part ways.

She calls out a goodbye to him as she peels off toward the parking lot and Stiles jogs to catch up with Scott.

"Hey Scott," he says brightly.

Scott flashes him a smile so bright Stiles thinks he might be a little blinded by it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! A new chapter! I apologise if it's not as polished as it normally is because I finished it off in a bit of a rush.
> 
> Thanks for reading, more next week as per.


	14. Chapter 14

"How are you enjoying the class so far?" Scott asks, as they approach the classroom.

Stiles takes a beat for his brain to catch up, distracted by the softness of Scott's voice. "You're a really good teacher," he says honestly.

Scott snorts. "So you hate the subject, then."

"You actually made me interested in the history of ceramics," Stiles says. "I just don't think I'm actually going to discover a talent."

"The practical side of things doesn't come naturally to everyone," Scott says easily. "If you really want to learn, stay behind after class and I'll help you out."

"Not meeting up with Derek this evening?" Stiles asks. He wants to kick himself after but Scott doesn't look affronted by the comment.

"Derek's already gone home. I'm the only person who does two evening classes a week."

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "I bet that kills your social life, dude."

Scott shrugs. "I make time."

"Of course you do," Stiles says. "I bet you're one of those super caring friends who always reaches out."

Scott frowns. "What makes you say that?"

Stiles can feel his cheeks heating up, certain he's already revealed a little too much about how he feels about Scott. Scott, his teacher. Scott, who currently thinks he's an undergrad, three years younger than he really is.

Stiles tries not to sputter out his words too quickly when he answers. "You just- you seem like a really good guy, that's all."

"Thanks," Scott says softly. "You're not the kind of person to reach out to your friends?"

"My ex got most of the friends in the break up," Stiles says, only slightly bitter. He knows it's not attractive, but he can't help the way he bites it out.

"That sucks," Scott says.

Stiles shrugs. "He wasn't that bad. It was timing, that's all."

He notices - appreciates, even - the way Scott's eyes cut across to him sharply when the pronoun 'he' comes out. If Scott didn't know he was into men before, he definitely knows now. That can only be a good thing, a step in the right direction.

"Still," Scott says. "Losing your friends is never fun."

Stiles smiles, but it's weak. "I'm making new ones. Lydia doesn't totally hate me anymore."

Scott snorts. "She gives off that impression long after she changes her mind about someone, don't worry."

"You've known her for a while?" Stiles asks.

"I dated her best friend for a while," Scott says, a half smile crossing her face.

"Wait, Allison?" Stiles asks. "Terrifying Allison?"

Scott laughs. "She's sweet really. Where Lydia is defensive, Allison is devious. And very protective of her friends."

"You must know Lydia well, then," Stiles says, wondering why neither Lydia nor Scott mentioned this before. He wonders if he's going to have to pry it out of Lydia - after all, she said she only knew Scott through Cora.

Scott shrugs. "She kept herself pretty closed off. Allison told me a lot about her, though. Intelligent, focused, terrible at relationships."

"So when I stay late to learn some practical skills," Stiles says, as they approach the door. "Do you want to help me figure out this Lydia and Cora thing?"

Scott rolls his eyes. "Sure," he says, pulling open the door and stepping aside for Stiles to walk through it.

If Stiles brushes just an inch too close to Scott, he won't ever admit it.

He's almost disappointed he has to share Scott now, as disturbingly possessive as that line of thought is, and he takes his customary seat at the front of the class and waits for the rest of the class to arrive.

Scott keeps up light chatter with him as the class fills out, so he doesn't feel totally neglected, but then Scott straightens up - clearly ready to get serious - and Stiles realizes it's time to focus.

There aren't any pottery wheels on the desks today but there is a cleared space with newspaper on it, clearly to stop them marking the desks. Scott instructs them to collect the clay from the back and then they're going to discuss what today's activity is.

The volume in the class increases as they all follow instructions, and then Stiles sits down to listen.

"I'm going to hand out some sheets," Scott says. "Each of them have a different style of sculpture on them from the periods we were discussing on Tuesday. I've taken into account your ability, don't worry," at this, his eyes skip to Stiles and he grins. "I want you to emulate that style. Nothing complicated, we'll keep it very simple. That's for the first ninety minutes of the class, okay?"

He slaps a sheet down on Stiles' desk and Stiles looks over it. It looks simple, and he doesn't think he can name the style it is, but he appreciates Scott giving him something basic. He doesn't wait for Scott to finish handing things out, just gets to work straight away. There's some writing on the back of the sheet and Stiles thinks it might be Scott's own handwriting.

It's messy and barely legible and Stiles hates the way his heart flutters a little in his chest at seeing his name scrawled out in Scott's hand.

The instructions are brief but Stiles thinks he knows what to do in order to imitate one of the pictures on the front of the sheet, and so he gets to work, dipping his fingers in the water and smoothing out the corners of the clay. He has an image in his head of what he's going to create even though he's almost certain he won't achieve it.

It'll give him a reason, a good reason, to stay behind and talk to Scott. Between his failure at modelling clay and the help he needs with Cora and Lydia, he's got plenty to talk to Scott about. He feels a little bad using Lydia in this way - he knows she won't appreciate it - but it's a perfect opportunity.

And Stiles needs all the help he can get. He's going to run out of time, after all, he's only got until the end of the semester before Isaac's deal comes through. He needs to get Scott to like him, to enjoy spending time with him.

He starts to split up his clay into pieces, getting an idea in his head of how he can piece them back together for the final product. He starts shaping them into small balls, rolling them between his fingers until they're as smooth as he'd like them.

Scott appears in front of his desk, splays his hands out on the wooden surface. He doesn't say anything, just watches, and Stiles has always hated teachers who do that. It's worse when you're writing an essay and they read it over your shoulder, but this is still agonizing. He can feel his cheeks growing uncomfortably pink and he's about to say something when Scott opens his mouth.

"Traditional methods from that style start with the clay all together," he says.

Stiles looks at his seven pieces of clay, split unevenly, some of them spherical. "Should I... start again?"

Scott frowns. "I'm not sure how you're going to get that affect," he says, tapping his finger twice on one of the pictures on the sheet, "with the method."

"I'll start again," Stiles decides. He glances up at the clock behind Scott's head, wondering how in the hell half an hour has passed already.

Scott frowns. "No, hang on," he says. He reaches behind him and tugs up a stool and sits down on the other side of the table. "I didn't mean to discourage you, we can fix this."

Stiles tries to push down the little bubble of hope that rises inside of him when Scott says we.

"What do we do?" Stiles says.

Scott flashes him a grin, and then he starts explaining as he moves the lumps of clay together, the ones Stiles has smoothed into spheres. He wonders if they're still warm from being in his hands and has to crush that line of thought because he's trying to concentrate. He's trying to learn and he's trying to impress Scott.

Something smooth and pretty appears in Scott's hands, and it's not at all what Stiles pictured in his head but it's really beautiful. There's still half the block of clay left and Stiles is dreading the next words to come out of Scott's mouth.

"I'm going to do another round of the class," Scott says. "And while I'm gone I want you to try and copy what I did, okay?"

"You're a professional," Stiles moans. "This is absolutely unfair."

"Just try," Scott says. "You're staying late anyway, I can help you out then."

"Thanks," Stiles says quietly.

Scott shrugs. "I can't focus on you all the time in class, that would look like favoritism."

"It isn't favoritism?" Stiles asks. It's dangerously close to flirting in the middle of the class, what they're doing, but he can't help it, he loves it.

"No," Scott says, a teasing grin on his face. "It's helping the needy."

Stiles blows a raspberry and Scott tips his head back and laughs. "I'll come back," he tells Stiles. "Promise."

Stiles can't help but feel like the air between them is sparking with electricity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading
> 
> I'm not sure if there will be a chapter next week because I'm away for a bit and I'm likely to be super exhausted, sorry.


	15. Chapter 15

Stiles doesn't pack up when the rest of the class does, just pokes at his lump of clay. They spent the last thirty minutes looking at each others work and noting similarities and differences from each style, and it had been particularly brutal for Stiles. He's glad he's staying behind, not just for the chance to hang out with Scott, but for the extra help as well.

His clay has dried out a little and so he needs to dampen it, but as he goes to dip his fingers in the water he knocks the bowl, and pours water all over himself, dampening his t-shirt and making it stick to him. He wishes he'd gone with a shirt over the top, even if it looked like he was trying too hard, because the water is cold and he can't change his tee at all.

Scott settles at the front of the class, and Stiles glances up. He sees the moment Scott notices how damp he is, the way his eyes widen. Scott's gaze visibly tracks down Stiles' torso, and something warm pools in the pit of his belly.

Scott McCall is definitely, 100%, checking him out.

Scott clears his throat and his gaze flicks up to Stiles' face. His ears go pink when he sees Stiles looking at him, and Stiles tries not to smile.

His usually method of flirting is brash and impulsive and not at all the kind of flirting that will work on Scott.

He peels the shirt away from his skin instead, and then lets go, feeling it spring back into place. "You got any paper towels?" He asks, wincing.

Scott nods and doesn't say anything, just rises from his chair to get some. Stiles follows and realizes too late just how close he is to Scott when he turns around and they're face to face.

"Here," Scott says, as Stiles takes a few stumbling steps back.

"Thanks," Stiles says, taking the paper towels and dabbing ineffectually at his t-shirt. He searches for a change of topic, seeking the red tips of Scott's ears and suspecting they match the color of his own cheeks. "The last bit of class was really helpful," he says.

It's not even a lie, it's totally true.

"Yeah?" Scott says, approaching his desk and moving away from Stiles. He misses the closeness immediately but he's glad for the distance, too.

"It was more constructive," Stiles says, trying to think of something intelligent to say. "Looking at everyone else's technique and style."

"I hope you don't think your critique was too harsh," Scott says, smiling slightly.

Stiles shrugs. "I saw it coming."

"You want me to help?"

Stiles looks at his table. He managed to right the bowl before the water spread too much, but his little clay model looks really sad surrounded by slightly damp newspaper.

"I'm beyond help," Stiles says. "You know who isn't, though," he adds, grinning.

Scott groans. "This is about Lydia and Cora, isn't it?"

Stiles grins even wider. "I just need a few hints! I don't know Cora, all I know is the Hale's fearsome reputation."

"Reputation?" Scott asks.

"Super hot, super scary," Stiles says firmly. Scott snorts.

"Derek's not like that," he says. "Cora... yeah, Cora's scary."

Stiles laughs. "Good match for Lydia, then."

"I saw you two talking," Scott says. "It looked intense."

Stiles waves a hand. "Thesis stuff."

He definitely wasn't talking to Lydia about the elaborate web of lies he's built to talk to Scott.

"Biology, right?" Scott says, dragging up a stool to Stiles' table. Stiles takes the cue to sit down opposite him, his sad looking clay model between them.

Stiles nods. "No art skills required."

Scott smiles. "You'll be fine."

Stiles reaches down to peel his shirt away from him again, not missing the way that Scott's eyes flick down as he does so. He's warming up a little but he's still noticeably damp and he's hoping that changes soon. He doesn't know how long he's going to be staying here but it's not going to be comfortable like this.

He dips his fingers in the water - carefully this time - and starts smoothing water over the clay, making it soft and malleable again. Scott directs him, shows him pictures on his tablet as examples for what he can do as it starts getting more complicated. Stiles took notes from the feedback his classmates gave him and he's starting to feel like he might be improving.

"Hang on," Scott says, and his fingers brush against Stiles', and his hand is so warm Stiles goes completely still. He doesn't know what to do.

Scott's doe-brown eyes are concentrating on the clay model, and he doesn't seem to have noticed that Stiles has lost control of his extremities.

"Like that," Scott says, and the timbre of his voice is unexpectedly soft. Stiles glances up at his face to find him totally focused on the clay, his brow furrowed in intense concentration.

Stiles clears his throat.

"You make it look easy," he says, trying to regain control.

"Lots of practice," Scott says, lifting his hand and breaking into a smile. "There, look. That part is smooth now, much closer to the style."

"Thanks," Stiles says, uncertainly. He's a little lost for words by the presence of Scott so close to him. It's entirely too intimate for such a large classroom.

"It's what I'm here for," Scott says easily, leaning back away from the table. Stiles feels like he can breathe again, finally, with space between them.

Scott ruins it. "Your turn. Make it look symmetrical."

Stiles groans. "An impossible task," he says, dramatically.

"Just try," Scott coaxes, and Stiles dips his fingers in the water again and tries to replicate what Scott's done.

The feeling of Scott's eyes on him as he does so is... difficult, in so many ways. He wants to impress Scott but he also wants Scott's eyes on him for a very different reason. Knowing that he's the absolute center of Scott's attention?

It makes it difficult to concentrate.

The clay is cool underneath his fingers, and sticky, but Stiles manages a rough approximation of what Scott has done. It's still a little lopsided, and you can definitely tell which side is Scott's, but Stiles is fairly pleased.

It's better than he thought it would be, at least.

Scott makes a positive noise.

Neither of them says anything for a moment, they just look at each other. Stiles is just beginning to grow uncomfortable with the silence when Scott glances at the clock and swears, loudly.

"We're going to get locked in," Scott informs him.

Stiles just catches himself before he tells Scott how he wouldn't mind that very much at all.

"Lost track of time, I guess," Stiles says.

Scott frowns. "Sorry, you probably have places to be."

Stiles shrugs. "This was a cool way to spend an evening."

Scott snorts. "You don't have to pretend you love the class, Stiles. I'm not a teacher who holds a grudge."

"What kind of teacher are you, exactly?" Stiles asks. It's meant to come out teasing but it comes out almost seductive, and Scott's cheeks go pink.

"Stiles, I-" he says, and then stops. His eyes are wide and he looks panicked, and Stiles backs away.

"Sorry," he says. "That was- Sorry."

Scott nods. "Okay," he says. Stiles isn't sure if either of them know what he's agreeing to. "See you next week."

"Yeah," Stiles says. He's halfway to the door already, bag in one hand and clay ignored.

He pauses.

"Do you want help tidying up? If you've got a deadline, and all."

"Don't worry about it," Scott says. "Thanks, though."

It feels a little less awkward than it did moments before, and Stiles doesn't mind so much when he walks out the door.

That has to mean something. Scott wouldn't have reacted like that if there wasn't something there.

Stiles just wishes it didn't have to be so complicated. He wishes he hadn't made it so complicated.

It starts raining as Stiles walks home, gentle splatter that just makes him slightly damp. His t-shirt had only just managed to dry out, but he can't bring himself to be mad about it. He's got to go home and do some more work on that paper he's promised Erica, and figure out how he's going to cram everything in the next week. Deadlines and meetings and he really, really doesn't want to disappoint Erica again.

He doesn't want to fuck up and make the department lose funding. He especially doesn't want to fuck up because he devoted more time to chasing after someone than to his job. His actual, adult job, that they interviewed for and everything. If the standard of the other PhD students is that high, there must have been intense competition, and Stiles can't afford to let the department down. It took a long time to get here, if he loses it now he's - well, he's fucked.

Stiles isn't about to give up on the Scott thing, but time management has never been his strength.

He just really fucking hopes he can handle it. In an ideal world, Stiles will submit his thesis and Scott will fall madly in love with him.

Or something. He's not sure on that part yet.

Failure isn't an option, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness on this one! I wish I had a good excuse but honestly I got Dragon Age: Inquisition for my birthday and that ate entire days of my time. Oops.
> 
> Next update next Monday, probably? Sooner if I'm feeling productive (unlikely)


	16. Chapter 16

"How was pottery?" Lydia asks. "Scott looked pleased to see you."

Stiles blinks. He barely feels awake, having slept badly the night before, and he's not prepared for Lydia. He's not prepared to talk about the way Scott looked at him last night.

"My t-shirt got stuck to me."

Lydia snorts. "Is that a euphemism? Scott would never sleep with a student, I don't believe you."

"No," Stiles says, shaking his head. "I spilled water all over myself, and he checked me out."

"Of course you spilled water all over yourself," Lydia says, clucking her tongue. "But at least he enjoyed the view."

"It was good," Stiles says. "I think I'm getting better."

Lydia looks up from the papers she's shuffling. "At pottery, or at flirting?"

Stiles frowns. "Both?"

"Your confidence is impressive," Lydia says. Stiles rolls his eyes at her sarcasm, and looks at his desk.

Erica's stuck a post-it note on his computer with a big smiley face and "Deadlines are important!!" written on it. Stiles hates her a little bit.

"I'm gonna grab a coffee," Stiles says uncertainly, rising from his chair. "I think I need caffeine to deal with today's trials."

"Deadline?" Lydia asks.

Stiles grunts in the affirmative and marches out the door. He's still half asleep and more than a little lost in thought when someone grabs his arm as he walks down the corridor.

"Stiles," Scott says. "You okay?"

Stiles blinks at him. "What?"

"You looked pretty intense, dude," Scott says, a half smile on his face.

"Deadlines," Stiles says, keeping it vague. It still feels a little weird after last night and he doesn't know what to say to Scott, doesn't know how to take the next step without screwing everything up. He didn't plan for any of this, not really.

After all, it is an incredibly poorly thought through plan.

"Sure," Scott says, but his smile has stiffened a little and he takes a step back. "Just slow down, yeah?"

"Yeah," Stiles says, eyes lingering just a moment too long on Scott's lips. "Just need that caffeine fix."

"I shouldn't kept you up so late last night," Scott says, jokingly, and behind him Stiles sees Erica choke on her own drink. She peers over Scott's shoulders, making exaggerated gestures at him.

"I have to go," Stiles says.

"See you next week," Scott says, and Stiles nods half heartedly, brushing past him toward the coffee stand. It's not until he's got his cup in his hand and he turns around that he sees Erica waiting for him, her arms folded across her chest.

"Kept you up late, did he?" she says, smirking.

Stiles scowls. "Not in the fun way," he says. "I mean, I had fun. But it was pottery related."

"Hot," Erica says. "Do you think sex involving clay would be hot or just gross?"

"You have a one track mind," Stiles tells her.

"Like you don't," Erica fires back. "Are you staying late today?"

"Yeah," Stiles sighs. "You gave me a deadline, I have a week, I'm going to hit it."

"I believe in you," Erica says cheerfully.

The two of them part ways, Erica heading to her office and Stiles heading to the lab. He sticks his headphones in and focuses on his experiment, and it's only when he breaks for lunch that he realizes something terrible.

He hasn't told Scott he won't show up on Tuesday. Their most recent conversation is still vivid in his mind and he knows he didn't handle it well, and he doesn't think he can face him again outside of a class scenario.

He decides, abruptly, to send him an email, but by the time he's finished his lunch and gone back to the lab it's the last thing on his mind, and he completely forgets about it.

He spends the whole weekend working on his samples and typing up his results into something neat and orderly that might just be worth reading. It's barely half done by Monday lunch time, and he's been spectacularly antisocial all weekend. He doesn't even make an effort to be polite to Lydia, goddess that she is.

His samples need changing, and that takes all of Monday afternoon, and by mid morning on Tuesday he's realized that the journal he's submitting to requires their results table in a very specific format that he has no fucking idea how to do.

It's an hour of fighting software before Erica knocks on the door frame. She enters when Stiles doesn't respond and he only notices her - and jumps out of his skin - when she waves her hand in front of his face.

He pulls his earbuds out and is greeted with of peals of laughter.

"Your face!" Erica says.

"Thanks," Stiles says flatly, saving his malfunctioning table as a separate file. "What's up?"

"We're planning your class tomorrow, remember? You agreed."

Stiles nods.

That's when he notices the time and realizes he still hasn't emailed Scott, and that his week is going from bad to worse. He reasons there's no point in doing it no, that emailing now is completely meaningless.

"You okay?" Erica asks, after he zones out again.

"Yeah," Stiles says. "Sorry. You've got the slideshow?"

"I do," Erica grins, tugging out her USB stick.

Erica plugs in the usb stick and loads up the powerpoint.

"We're going to go through it until you know it off by heart, and then I'm going to ask you the kind of douchey questions freshmen come up with."

"Awesome," Stiles says flatly. She's stuck wordart on the first page. He didn't even know wordart was still a thing.

They go through it and it's all basic stuff, but Stiles definitely needs to work on his delivery, and it doesn't help that lingering in the back of his mind are doubts about Scott and pottery class, and about getting this paper finished by Friday.

He's got too much on his plate right now and he's stressed, and it's definitely not going to help him teach biology tomorrow morning.

It's on their fifth run through that Erica starts nodding and smiling. Lydia left sometime around the second attempt and Stiles has the beginnings of a headache.

"I think you've got it," Erica says. "It was understandable and concise but still challenging enough for a freshman."

"So it's questions from douchebags next, right?"

"Don't refer to any of them as douchebags to their faces," Erica says, pointing her finger at him.

"You reserve that for PhD students?" Stiles says.

Erica grins. "Exactly."

She starts firing questions at him, and she's right, they are incredibly inane. But he talks his way through them in the best way he can and it's 9pm by the time they're finished and Erica is satisfied.

"You're not going to make me do this every week, are you?" Stiles asks.

Erica shakes her head. "Once you've got the process down and you're more confident, you'll do fine. I shouldn't have sent you in there with no instruction last week, and I'm sorry about that."

Stiles shrugs. "Thanks for the help."

"Now go home," Erica says. "Don't think I don't know you were here all weekend. One more hour before the lab shuts won't do any good now."

Stiles nods at her and starts packing up his bag. He barely has the energy for a coherent thought and by the time he gets home he collapses straight into bed. He's a little less groggy the following morning and he's prepared this time, he thinks, for his class.

The day goes by in a blur and he feels relatively satisfied, though the looming deadline on Friday morning still means his fingernails are bitten down to the quick. Erica stops by to give him a thumbs up and tell him he got good feedback from the class, and he stays until 10pm again.

This phase of the experiment is finished, finally, and his paper still needs some tightening up but he's nearly done. Just one more day, a final 24 hours, and Erica might not murder him.

He can't remember the last time he had a conversation with a real human being by Thursday lunchtime, and his headphones have grown disgustingly gunky from overuse. He doesn't think this pair are going to last much longer, but that's why he bought cheap ones.

"How are you doing?" Erica stops in to check on his process.

"I'm over the word limit," Stiles tells her, at 6pm.

In an hour, he's due at Scott's classroom.

He doesn't think he's going to make it, and an uncomfortable feeling settles in his gut.

Scott's definitely going to think Stiles is avoiding him.

Erica pulls a sympathetic face before she heads home for the day, and Stiles is left on his own to tweak and tug at words until, at 10pm, he emails it to Erica.

There's no way in hell he's coming in early tomorrow morning to hand it in. Fuck that.

He sleeps amazingly on Thursday night. It's like he slept on a pillow made of clouds. The alcohol he drank alone in his apartment might have helped, but either way, when he strolls into the lab at noon on Friday he's feeling refreshed. Content.

"I read it through," Erica says. "I've got some comments, but I'm impressed. Thank you."

"I'd say any time, but I don't want to do that again in the near future."

Erica snorts. "Take Monday off. But I want you to do some reading, I think there's some stuff that would really support the experiment. I've emailed you a list."

"Homework," Stiles groans.

"Please," Erica says. "Just go pick them up from the library. Your experiment needs a few days to rest anyway, right?"

"Fine," Stiles says, booting up his email client and praying that the printer will actually work today. The library is on the other end of campus and Stiles enjoys the fresh air as he walks. It feels like he's barely been outside in a week, as buried in his work as he's been.

There's about four books Erica wants him to check out, and he peruses the biology section hunting for them. He figures he might as well start on the first one now, so he grabs the first table he can and sits down, making a neat stack and starting to take notes.

That's when he spots Scott McCall, out of the corner of his eye.

It's too late, Scott's already spotted him and is approaching. There's a seat opposite Stiles which is free and Scott sits down.

"Hey," Stiles says, keeping his voice low. It is a library, after all.

"You missed class," Scott says, voice low as well.

"Sorry," Stiles says. "I meant to email you, but I got caught up."

"Look, Stiles, if I've made you uncomfortable-"

Stiles interrupts him. "Not at all!" His voice is a little shrill and definitely too loud for the library. "That's not it," he says, in a lower voice. "Erica's been riding my ass and I had a deadline and... y'know, thesis stuff."

"Senior year is a bitch," Scott says.

Stiles hums in agreement. "I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't want to make you think I was avoiding you."

"It's okay," Scott says. "You've missed a lot, though."

"Oh," Stiles says, unsure how to respond. He doesn't want to apologize again - three would be one time to many - but he doesn't know what else to say.

"Are you okay to stay late again next week?" Scott asks tentatively, like he's afraid of scaring Stiles off.

That gives Stiles a bit of a rush, the thought that Scott might be just as hopeful about this as he is.

"Yeah," he says, trying not to sound too eager. "I can do that. I'll see you on Tuesday."

"Promise?" Scott asks, a crooked smile on his face. Stiles wants to kiss it.

"Promise," he says, leaning back in his chair to watch Scott walk away.

He looks back over his shoulder at Stiles and it's the most exciting thing that's ever happened to Stiles. He could drown in those brown eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late, I meant to post it last night but I got home late and completely forgot! As a bonus, it's a little longer than my chapters usually are.
> 
> Thanks for reading :)


	17. Chapter 17

Stiles gets his reading done over the weekend, and he spends Tuesday rereading his paper and adjusting for what he's learnt. Erica's emailed her comments and so he makes some of those changes too.

The day seems to fly by before it's time to see Scott. He doesn't know how to approach this. It seems like something has changed since their last class, like their relationship has become more intimate, somehow.

He's still Stiles' teacher, though, and he's still standing at the front of the class when Stiles walks in.

The sweet smile he throws him makes something warm flutter inside Stiles, and he grins back as he slides behind his desk. The class is about half full when he gets there, and it doesn't take long before it fills up and the door closes behind the last to enter.

"Alright," Scott says, rubbing his hands together. "Freestyle today."

He looks around at the totally still class and laughs. "C'mon, guys. I want you to make something you think is cool. Make it represent a hobby or an interest of yours, or just make it something you'd like to decorate your room with. Relax."

Stiles looks around as people start moving, and starts kneading his lump of clay. He wonders what he missed last week, if this is all they're doing. Maybe it was all theory and Scott decided they needed something fun to do.

If that's the case, he's looking forward to staying behind decidedly less.

He doesn't know what he should base today's exercise on. He thinks a gaming controller might be a bit out of his league, and biology doesn't make for any models he'd particularly like a replica of in clay.

He thinks about the decor in his apartment - it probably could use a bit of livening up, now he comes to think of it, but he has no idea where to start with this.

Scott stands in front of him, smiling. "Stuck for ideas?"

Stiles glances around. "I'm not the only one," he says. In fact, only one person has started working on their clay. But Scott chose to come and talk to him. Stiles tries not to weigh that down with too much meaning, but meeting Scott's eyes sends a little thrill through him.

It means something.

"What are your hobbies?" Scott asks.

Stiles tries desperately to think of something cool. What's a cool hobby? He has no fucking idea. "Gaming, mostly," he says.

Building yet another lie into their relationship would have been a bad idea, anyway.

"Oh, cool," Scott says. "Me too. What games?"

He looks genuinely interested, and he's leaning a little toward Stiles.

"I like FPS, mostly," Stiles says. "Though I'm a sucker for World of Warcraft."

"It's hard to escape the claws of that one," Scott says with a smile. "Bet it sometimes takes priority over studying."

"Hey, no," Stiles says. "I missed your class for totally unrelated to WoW reasons."

"I believe you," Scott says, with a teasing smile on his face.

Stiles huffs. "What about you, what games do you play?"

"Minecraft," Scott says. "That and Team Fortress 2 are my biggest weaknesses."

"I could definitely make you something pixel shaped," Stiles says, looking down at his lump of clay.

Scott laughs. "It's meant to be for you, dude."

"Right," Stiles says. "I'm not sure I'll create anything worth keeping."

"Don't be so down on yourself," Scott says. "You were making progress before you started skipping class."

"You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"Doubt it," Scott says, still smiling at Stiles. There's something amazing about being the center of Scott's attention. It's like all he wants is for Stiles to succeed, and it makes Stiles want it to.

"So I can't do pixels," Stiles says slowly. "And I bet you're not going to let me do something abstract, either."

"Don't even think about it," Scott says. "Make something you think is beautiful."

"I don't think I'm talented enough to sculpt you," Stiles says, without thinking. As soon as he hears the words hanging in the air between them his cheeks go pink. He drops his eyes from Scott's and studies the table intently.

Scott clears his throat. "I'm going to talk to the other students," he says. He doesn't walk away, though, and Stiles lifts his gaze to see Scott's furrowed brow.

"Thanks," Scott says quietly, and then he walks away quickly.

Stiles' heart is still beating too rapidly. He just did a very stupid thing, he thinks, but he can't help but feel like it didn't go wrong. It might even have meant something to Scott.

He still has no idea what to sculpt, though, so he gives up and decides to stick with the gaming theme - a computer mouse. It seems fairly simple, at least you'd think so, but Stiles has trouble making it look like the one he has at home.

Though maybe he should go for abstract again - just to see the look on Scott's face - and create something that is both a computer mouse and something entirely different. Something that might look good on a shelf.

It lingers in the back of his mind that maybe he's taken a wrong turn by not creating something he can gift to Scott, but he's already crossed the appropriateness line today. And a TF2 hat is definitely beyond him, ability-wise.

His mouse is starting to take shape when Scott swings by again, having spoken to the rest of the class. Everyone else seems to have started working on their projects, so clearly Scott's influence has been relatively inspiring.

"So you went with the gaming theme," Scott says. Stiles can hear the smile in his voice, but he resists the urge to look up and meet Scott's eyes. He's concentrating on separating each click button and he doesn't want his line to get wobbly.

He's got clay under his fingernails and it's really disgusting. He thinks Scott probably permanently has clay under his fingernails.

"It's not very complicated," Stiles says, still concentrating. "But it's still shit."

"It's not," Scott says. "There's nothing wrong with it."

Stiles snorts, a rush of air coming out through his nose. "Yet," he says.

"Stiles," Scott says, his voice going serious. Stiles looks up at him and puts the computer mouse down. "You're doing fine."

"Thanks," Stiles says quietly.

Scott nods. "I don't think you need my help, honestly. You're doing fine."

Stiles bits his lip. "I thought about making you a TF2 hat," he tells him.

"I already told you not to," Scott says, smiling.

Stiles shrugs. "I'm not very good at following orders."

Scott laughs. "I feel sorry for your thesis supervisors."

"Don't," Stiles says. "They're evil."

Scott laughs again, louder. "I'll leave you to it. There's only fifteen minutes left and then we're back to book work. Theory, dull."

"It can't be that boring if you're teaching it," Stiles says.

He's getting stupidly bold, he's just throwing things out here that could badly hit back at him.

Scott doesn't seem to mind, though. "Even I don't enjoy it that much," he says.

"Just doing your job, right?"

"My job," Scott says, and his cheeks go slightly pink. Stiles wonders if he's crossed a line, if reminding Scott that Scott was his teacher was a dangerous setback.

He pauses.

"Good luck with your mouse," he says, and then he walks away to speak to another student. Stiles concentrates on the wire of the mouse - he's going retro, okay?

The next fifteen minutes go by very quickly and Stiles is relatively pleased with the finished result. Scott was right, he shouldn't have assumed it would go wrong. Stiles still thinks Scott only said that to be kind, but he's going to hold on to the kind words anyway.

The class files out and Stiles stays seated. He rummages in his bag for a pen and paper, figuring he'll need to take notes for this.

"So what did you cover last week?" Stiles asks.

Scott jumps. Apparently he forgot Stiles was there, which delights Stiles a little.

"Tuesday was sculpture techniques, but we won't cover those this evening. Honestly, they weren't that important in the syllabus. Thursday was a bit of recent sculpture history, and the intersection of modern art and sculpture."

"Modern art," Stiles says, suspiciously.

"Modern art is very mixed media," Scott says. "So use of sculpture in it is natural."

Stiles starts taking notes as Scott details the way modern art has developed and the way it's interacted with styles of sculpture. He butts in to ask questions a few times, and forty five minutes fly by.

"That should do it," Scott says.

"Didn't it take a whole two hour class?" Stiles asks.

Scott shrugs. "It's different, one on one."

Stiles pauses. It's an opportunity to talk to Scott, to really get to know him.

"Do you want me to stay and tidy up?"

Scott looks at him, and Stiles feels like his eyes linger longer than necessary. "Sure," he says eventually. "Thanks."

"No problem," Stiles says. "Where should I start?"

Scott directs Stiles to the sink at the back and the two of them work in tandem, tidying up the dirty bowls of water and washing up the tools people have used to make their sculptures. Stiles is impressed with the quality of his class - they've produced some good stuff.

"You're a really good teacher," Stiles tells Scott. "People have made some good stuff."

Scott looks like he might argue, but he ducks his head instead. "Thanks," he says quietly.

"You enjoy it, right?" Stiles asks.

"I like helping people," Scott says. "But I wish I had the money to sculpt full time, I guess."

"I've never seen any of your original work," Stiles says.

Scott shrugs. "I haven't been in a gallery for a while. I'm working on a display that I'm hoping will get picked up, but it's early days yet."

Stiles looks up at Scott, hands still in the sink. He can't draw his eyes away from Scott's lips.

"You've got clay on your cheek," Scott says.

Stiles lifts up one arm and vigorously scrubs at it. Scott looks like he's trying not to laugh. There isn't a conveniently placed mirror above the sink, so Stiles can't see what he's doing.

"Let me get it," Scott says, and the world goes a little bit still.

"Thanks," Stiles says, his voice going a little hoarse as Scott leans in.

His hands cup Stiles' face, and Stiles is pretty sure he's forgotten how to breathe with Scott only inches from him.

Scott rubs his face gently with the cuff of his sleeve, but doesn't move away. He opens his mouth, as if he's about to say something, but Stiles never gets to find out what.

There's a bang as the door swings open, and Scott jumps two paces back, his cheeks flushing bright pink.

Stiles doesn't know where to look, so he focuses on the intruder.

Derek Hale looks concerned, more than anything else, at whatever it was he just walked in on. Even Stiles can't put a name on it.

"I'll see you on Thursday," he says to Scott, his voice still a little rough.

"Thanks for the help," Scott croaks, as Stiles grabs his bag and walks briskly out, brushing past Derek in the doorway.

He hopes Scott isn't going to get fucked over for this. For all Scott knows, Stiles is an undergrad, and this is incredibly unethical. Something clenches tight in Stiles' gut.

It had seemed so hopeful. It had been so good.

And now it might be ruined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to treat you with an early chapter on Friday but I totally forgot. It was already finished, and everything.
> 
> This fic is pretty closed to finished, maybe about 3 more chapters to go? 
> 
> also i still don't know anything about pottery/sculpture/ceramics, and i'm on tumblr at [argentwolvs](http://argentwolvs.tumblr.com)


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! We're so close to the end now that I am all systems go!

Stiles doesn't want to make eye contact with Lydia when he walks into the lab the following morning. He doesn't want her to ask questions, and he definitely doesn't want to answer them.

He doesn't know what to say.

"You look like you need coffee," Lydia says, frowning at him.

"Good idea," he says, and then he about turns and walks out of the room.

He gets his coffee and he's feeling a little more prepared to face Lydia with a cup of nice warm caffeine in his hand, but Erica's in the lab when he returns. Even worse.

"You're right, he does look bad," Erica says to Lydia.

"Did you just go and get her?" Stiles asks Lydia. "I wasn't gone that long."

"No, I needed to see you anyway," Erica says. "But now I'm interested."

"I'm fine," Stiles says firmly, and then he sets down his coffee cup too firmly and splashes it onto his hand. It's boiling hot and it hurts like hell and he swears loudly.

Erica rushes to him with a damp cloth and wipes it on his hand and it's blessedly cool, but Stiles jerks his hand away.

"It's fine," he says.

Erica frowns at him. "Okay, there's definitely something up with you."

"What happened at pottery class?" Lydia interjects.

"Nothing happened," Stiles says, too quickly. His voice is in danger of going high and shrill if he says anything else, and anyway he has a class to prepare for.

"We believe you," Lydia says flatly.

Erica grins at him. "We're not going to leave you alone until we find out."

"Or," Stiles says slowly. "You could let me do my job. I have a class to teach, remember?"

"Not for an hour," Erica says, waving a hand dismissively. "C'mon, give me the dirty details. Who kissed who? Did you get rejected? Did you have really bad breath?"

"Why are you really here?" Stiles asks.

Erica shrugs. "You're my favorite person to annoy. Also, the presentation I emailed you was missing a slide so you need to look over the new version I sent you."

"Awesome," Stiles sighs. "Thanks."

Erica peers closely at him. "My office door is open when you're ready to talk about Ott-scay Call-May."

"Pig latin is ridiculous," Stiles shouts after her as she leaves.

"Stiles," Lydia says softly. "What happened?"

Stiles shrugs. "It's not a big deal," he says, which is a lie and they both know it.

"Fine," Lydia says. "Suit yourself."

Stiles grunts at her, focusing on the slideshow that Erica's emailed him. He sips at his still too hot coffee as he reads over it, considering what he'll say to the class. He doesn't have long, or he'll be late, but he wants to be as good as he was last week, in spite of everything else that's going on.

He doesn't know how he can face Scott tomorrow.

He packs up his notes and makes his way to the classroom and the students seem like they're dreading this week's class less than last. Maybe that means he actually is improving. He starts speaking and if nothing else, the Scott stress starts to fall away as he runs through the concepts Erica wants him to cover.

It goes well, and he answers a lot of questions, and even speaks to a student who stays behind for a bit more detailed input. At some point he needs to set them an essay and then grade it, and he's particularly dreading that day, but this one is going okay.

By the time he's walking back to the lab, he's decided. He needs to go and talk to Scott. He needs to talk about whatever happened and - explain things, maybe. He needs to find out how Scott feels.

He has to ask, right?

He dumps his stuff on the desk and just as he's about to up and leave, Lydia opens her mouth.

"Isaac texted to find out where you are. He said you had lunch planned?"

"Shit," Stiles says. "Can you tell him I'll do it tomorrow? I've got an errand to run."

"An errand," Lydia says, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, an errand," Stiles says, adding enunciation that he knows will piss her off.

"Fine," she says, and waves her hand in a dismissive way. "See you in a bit, then. If he's mad, it's not my fault."

"Yeah, whatever," Stiles says, shoving his hands in his pocket and making his way to the art department. He's going to do this. He's going to deal with the mess he's created, absolutely, 100%.

The corridors to the art department seem even longer than usual and Stiles feels a tingling sense of dread spread through him with every step he takes. It makes his limbs heavy and uncomfortable. By the time he's outside Scott's room he can hear raised voices, and the first tendril of fear runs through him.

This can't be good. Scott would never shout - Stiles can't imagine it.

"I should have knocked," says a voice Stiles doesn't recognize. It sounds a little familiar but he can't quite put his finger on whose it is.

"There wasn't anything to be walked in on," Scott says. Stiles creeps forward, peering around the open door to see what's going on.

Derek Hale and Scott McCall are staring at each other, both wearing deep frowns.

Derek throws his hands up. "That's not what it looked like."

"He's my student," Scott says, and Stiles feels his cheeks growing warm. He's definitely the subject of this discussion. He creeps back behind the door and waits.

He's not eavesdropping he's... no, he's totally eavesdropping. He might as well admit it.

"That's why I'm worried," Derek says. "This isn't like you."

"He's a senior," Scott says, and his voice sounds like he's pleading. "He's got to be like, 22, at least."

"He's still your student," Derek says, sounding frustrated.

"Nothing happened," Scott says. "What you walked in on - he was just helping me clean up. It was innocent."

Derek is silent for a moment. "That isn't what it looked like."

Scott's quiet, too, and Stiles imagines him scrubbing his face with his hands. "I didn't mean to start having feelings for a student. Believe me, I feel like shit about it. But nothing has happened."

"You idiot," Derek says, but it sounds fond. "You can talk to me about this stuff, right?"

"You just gave me a lecture on appropriate boundaries," Scott says, and Stiles thinks that must have been the conversation he couldn't make out down the corridor.

"How do you know he isn't using you?"

Stiles winces. It's easy, so easy, for it to be seen that way. He's crap at pottery and as far as Scott's concerned, he needs this class to graduate.

"I don't," Scott admits, and that hurts. It makes Stiles want to burst in there and confess everything, but he doesn't, not yet.

"Do you know any of his friends?" Derek asks. "Do you know anything about him at all?"

Scott is silent, and Stiles is starting to think he's gone about this entirely the wrong way.

"Isaac vouches for him," Scott says eventually. "And he knows Lydia."

Stiles feels a little pleased that Isaac put in a good word for him. He must have been grateful for Stiles inviting Allison out after all.

"I don't trust Lydia."

"Yeah, yeah, you're the overprotective big brother, I know the routine," Scott says, sounding tired. "Stiles has been trying to get Lydia back together with Cora."

"That's... weird," Derek says.

Stiles peers around the door again to see the expressions on their face. Scott is shrugging, looking bemused.

He doesn't risk it for long, and ducks back again before Scott opens his mouth.

"He seems to have good intentions," Scott says.

Derek groans. "You think everyone has good intentions. You're compelled to believe the best in everyone."

Stiles tries not to smile at that.

"I like him," Scott says. "I'm not going to act on it. I'm not even going to be alone with him."

"That's not fair on him," Derek says. "Not if he needs your help with the class."

"What am I supposed to do?" Scott asks. "There isn't an easy solution, here."

"Talk to him. Make it clear that a line has been crossed and it's not acceptable."

"Okay," Scott says. "I'll ask him to stay behind tomorrow."

"You'll get through it," Derek says.

There's silence.

"Don't you dare tell him that his plan for Lydia and Cora has been successful. They're talking again."

Stiles doesn't even have the energy to punch the air. He needs a fucking drink.

He walks away quickly, sensing that the conversation is over and he might be discovered. He heads back to the lab. He's not hungry anymore, he doesn't care. He just wants out.

"How was your errand?" Lydia asks, her voice sounding snide.

"I hear you and Cora are talking again," Stiles says. He doesn't care that much, but he just wants to distract her from... everything.

Lydia's cheeks go slightly pink, and Stiles reaches for his bag and starts packing up his things.

"I told Allison about the business," Lydia says. "It helped."

"Glad you're getting laid again," Stiles says roughly, doing up the zip on his back too briskly. It jams and he tugs on it, frustrated.

"You okay?" Lydia asks.

Stiles sits down at his desk and puts his head in his hands. "I think I'm going to take the afternoon off," he says.

"That bad?"

Stiles shuts his eyes and breathes out, slowly. "I think I might have to come clean. As soon as possible."

"You knew this day would come," Lydia says calmly.

Stiles looks up at her. "I didn't expect I'd be doing it to stop him avoiding me completely."

Lydia considers him. "You're right, you're completely useless here. I'll tell Erica you're taking the afternoon off."

Stiles stands up and shoulders his bag.

"Thanks," he says.

He prays he doesn't bump into Scott in the parking lot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. More soon! Think there's only two, maybe three more chapters. Depends if I throw you guys a bonus outtake :D


	19. Chapter 19

Stiles only comes in on Thursday morning only because he has to. He has to talk to Isaac and tell him the deal is off, and he has to face Scott that evening.

Maybe he should just tell Scott he's dropping the class.

Lydia throws him a sympathetic look when he walks through the door to the lab, and that pretty much matches exactly how he feels right now. Stiles doesn't want to deal with any of this and he's grateful when Lydia doesn't open her mouth to speak to him. He focuses on his work all morning, and when the time comes to go to lunch, he stands up in silence and leaves. He figures Lydia won't mind - though she has sicc'ed Erica on him before when it's been necessary.

He grabs some coffee and a sandwich he doesn't much feel like eating and slumps into the seat opposite Isaac.

"So what came up yesterday?" Isaac says.

Stiles winces. "Nothing good."

"Erica said you had Scott problems," Isaac says flatly.

Stiles bites his lip. "I might have to renege on our deal."

"So I get to tell Scott all the dirty embarrassing details? Awesome."

Stiles heaves a sigh, and sits upright to look at his sandwich. It sits limp and flat and it looks like about the least appetizing thing ever.

"Derek walked in on us," he says.

Isaac raises his eyebrows. "Something actually happened?"

"Not really," Stiles says. "We were - I don't know. Close, I guess. Not touching. But Derek thought it was something it wasn't, and Scott panicked."

"But he likes you," Isaac says. It's almost a question, but not quite. Isaac has always had a talent for those.

"But he hates himself for it," Stiles says. "Because I'm his student."

"I guess it's time to tell him you're not," Isaac says.

Stiles takes a bite of his sandwich. It's just as bland as he thought it would be. "Then he'll hate me," he says, his mouth still full.

Isaac wrinkles his nose in disgust. "You need to sort your shit out."

"You sound like Erica," Stiles tells him. "What if he never forgives me?"

"I hate to break it to you, Stiles," Isaac says, "but you're already pretty fucked."

"Thanks for the update," Stiles says.

Isaac looks smug. "By the way," he says. "Me and Allison are dating."

Stiles groans. "I hate you."

"We had a deal," Isaac says. "You can't back out now."

"I've got class with him this evening," Stiles says. "I think I might just drop out."

Isaac raises an eyebrow. "You're still going to be sharing the same campus."

Stiles waves a hand dismissively. "I'll find somewhere else to do my PhD. I'm sure somewhere will take me."

"I don't understand what the big problem is?"

"You've met Scott, right?" Stiles asks. "He's just- good. Moral or whatever. That won't sync with this."

"No, you're right," Isaac says. "But if he likes you, he likes you."

"Not if that means he wants to avoid me and keep me at a distance. Because I'm his student," Stiles says.

"That does sound like something he would do," Isaac says. "So you're giving up? Just like that."

Stiles nods. "I'll go to tonight's class, I guess. And then I'll tell him I'm dropping the class and leave it at that."

Isaac nods. "You know," he says. "That actually gives him the almost ethical freedom to pursue you. If he wanted."

Stiles points a finger at Isaac, nearly knocking over his coffee. "Don't go and get my hopes up like that."

Isaac raises his eyebrows. "I still think he's out of your league, if that helps."

"It does," Stiles says. "Thank you."

It doesn't, not really.

Stiles sips at his coffee to wash the taste of the sandwich off his tongue.

"I heard you put in a good word for me anyway," he says.

"I didn't," Isaac says quickly. "All I said was that I knew you, and you weren't a total dick."

"That counts," Stiles says. "You don't hate me. It's too late. You've admitted it."

Isaac scowls. "I'm telling Erica you chickened out with Scott."

"She's already invited me into her office for a chat about my love life," Stiles says.

Isaac shrugs. "Guess that chat is going to suck even more, now."

"Don't you owe me?" Stiles asks.

"No."

"I helped you with Allison. If it weren't for me would you have even talked to her?"

Isaac rolls his eyes. "You're not some matchmaking god. It would have happened eventually."

"I interfered, and it worked. Admit it," Stiles says, leaning forward. He's feeling smug, which is better than feeling shitty about Scott, so he's going to make it last.

"Whatever," Isaac says. "I paid you back by not telling Scott you suck."

"Looks like that was for nothing, anyway," Stiles says.

"You'll find someone else pretty to fixate on soon," Isaac says. "Don't worry too much."

Stiles frowns. "I like fixating on Scott."

"Yeah, everyone in your vicinity knows."

Stiles drinks the last of his coffee. "Thanks for the pep talk," he says sarcastically.

Isaac waves him goodbye as Stiles dumps the remainder of his sandwich in the trash. He hopes Isaac isn't going to interfere, but it's reached such dire straits that he doesn't think Isaac can possibly make it any worse. What does that say about the situation?

"Enjoy lunch with Isaac?" Lydia asks.

Stiles frowns. "He's unbearably smug now that he's getting laid."

"You sound like a teenager every time you talk about sex," Lydia tells him. "Are you aware of that?"

Stiles shrugs. "How's Cora?" he says.

Lydia sighs, and doesn't respond. Stiles' bad mood is successfully pissing off everyone around him, which is probably going to have consequences. He'll face those at a later date, he figures.

The lab descends into an uncomfortable silence for the afternoon, and Stiles doesn't get much work done. He keeps a close eye on the clock. He doesn't want to be early to Scott's class, but he definitely doesn't want to be late, either.

He's regretting his desk at the front now, too.

When the time comes for him to pack up he does so slowly. His stomach feels like it's full of lead, and the corridor that connects the two buildings seems to stretch for miles. The class is almost full by the time he gets there, and for the first time he doesn't immediately seek out Scott when he enters the room. He keeps his head down as he walks to his desk, and gets out pen and paper.

"Theory day today," Scott says. He doesn't sound as welcoming as usual - in fact, he sounds a little stiff - and the knowledge that this has affected his teaching makes Stiles even more determined to drop the class. He doesn't want to mess with Scott's job, shit, his life. It's already too complicated.

For the first time, Scott calls him Stilinski when he's checking attendance, and Stiles feels his spine stiffen at the sound of it.

He doesn't make eye contact with Scott.

Scott puts up a slideshow on the projector and starts talking, and Stiles takes notes, not letting himself look at Scott and get distracted. There's no point him focusing, really, since he'll drop the class anyway, but he needs to not look at Scott.

It's really hard not to look at Scott now that Stiles knows what he looks like when he's only a breath away.

Stiles doodles in the margins of his notepad to pass the time when the topic gets unbearably dry and the minutes drag on.

"Alright," Scott says. "I know we're finishing early, but we can call it a night there."

When Stiles glances at the clock there's still a half hour left of the class, so Scott must be struggling too. Stiles wants to feel smug about it but it just makes him feel guilty.

"Stiles?" Scott says. "Can you stay behind?"

Stiles nods. He doesn't slide his notepad into his back, under the pretense that maybe he'll stay behind to do some work, and this isn't something different entirely.

"I'm sorry about Tuesday night," Scott starts. He sounds stiff and formal, and Stiles wonders if he rehearsed this. Maybe he practised with Derek.

"Sorry about what?" Stiles asks. If nothing else, he's going to make Scott say it.

Scott looks like he's gearing himself up for something. "I'm sorry about how close we've become," he says. "But it needs to stop."

He pauses.

"I really am sorry, Stiles."

Stiles takes a deep breath. "I think I'm going to drop the class," he says.

"What?" Scott says sharply.

"I'm making you uncomfortable," Stiles says quietly. "I'll leave. It's fine."

Scott pauses. "It's not that you're making me uncomfortable," he says. "It's that I'm attracted to you, and I'm your teacher. You shouldn't be punished for that."

"It's not one sided," Stiles says, voice even quieter before.

"That doesn't make it okay," Scott says firmly.

Stiles nods. "I'll drop the class," he says. "You'll never have to see me again."

"Stiles," Scott says, voice soft. "Didn't you say you needed this class to graduate? I don't want to delay that."

Stiles blinks at Scott. He's right, Stiles did tell Scott he was taking this as a last requirement to fill. There's no way Scott will let him drop it.

"So what are we supposed to do?" he asks. 

"No more staying behind, or helping me clean up," Scott says. "And I won't stop to chat if I see you in the corridor. It's unprofessional."

Scott pauses. 

"And I can ask Kira to mark your work. That would probably be for the best, so you get a fair assessment."

"Won't she know why?" Stiles asks.

Scott shrugs. "Kira's a good friend. I can trust her."

Stiles bites his lip. "Can you trust Derek? I don't want you to get fired. I didn't mean for any of this."

"It's not your fault," Scott says.

But it is, and Scott is going to be so angry when he finds out that Stiles has had ulterior motives from the start.

"Let me worry about my job," Scott says. "I'll see you on Tuesday."

Stiles nods.

He leaves the class without saying goodbye, not wanting to disrupt the tentative boundaries they've established.

As he makes his way home, he sends off a text to Isaac to keep him updated.

_Wouldn't let me drop the class. No solution in sight. I'm never speaking to you again._

His evening class is going to be his new hell, he thinks. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! Gosh.
> 
> Next chapter will be posted in a couple of days, probably? Friday, maybe.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the actual chapter 20! Sorry for the confusion, I got all mixed up.

Stiles' mood lifts a little over the weekend, which he spends studiously avoiding doing any work related to his PhD. Erica won't be impressed, but she's lucky he even showed up on Friday to work. Isaac never texts him back, but Stiles pushes that from his mind too. He doesn't want to think about Scott McCall or any of that mess, not today.

When he shows up at work on Monday, Lydia gives him a once over as he walks in the door. "Good," she says. "You showered."

"I wasn't that bad," Stiles says.

Lydia shrugs. "Your manpain has an odor."

"Thanks," Stiles says sarcastically.

"Any time," Lydia says, smiling saccharinely.

Stiles scowls. "I thought you were happier now that you and Cora were a thing again," he says, sitting heavily at his desk.

"We're not a thing," Lydia says. "We're working up to that."

"Apparently communication is important," Stiles mutters, only slightly bitterly. (He's lying to himself - it was definitely very bitter.)

"Stiles," Lydia says softly. "Don't take it out on me, okay?"

Stiles raises his eyebrows. "Because you never took it out on me when you and Cora weren't talking?"

"Okay, I deserve that," she says. She pauses. "I'm sorry," she says.

Stiles doesn't really know what she's apologizing for, but it's enough that she's doing it all. He wouldn't have expected that from her.

"Yeah," Stiles says uncomfortably. "It's fine."

Lydia shrugs, and the two of them work in stiff silence for the morning. Stiles starts tampering with his algae, taking out one petri dish after another to mess with. He takes detailed notes and pictures of each on his phone, and he's just packing up when there's a knock at the door.

"Hi," Scott says, and Stiles drops a petri dish.

"Hi," he says, his cheeks going hot. He grabs the dustpan and brush and kneels down to clean it up.

"Was that important?" Scott asks.

"No," Stiles lies. "It's fine."

He dumps the shard of glass in the trash and then wipes his hands on his jeans. "What are you doing here?" he asks.

Scott glances down.

"Isaac came to talk to me, on Friday night," he says.

Behind Scott, Stiles can see Lydia quietly grabbing a few things and leaving. Stiles can't help but feel a rush of gratitude toward her.

"He told you," Stiles says, throat dry.

Scott nods. He walks toward the window. "You really can see right into my studio from here, can't you?"

Stiles' hands are trembling. "I'm sorry," he says. "I wanted to tell you, but it all got too complicated."

"Do you know how much I beat myself up for liking a student? Flirting with a student?" Scott asks. "That wasn't cool. At all."

"It was dumb. Impulsive," Stiles says.

"I'm so fucking mad at you right now," Scott says.

And then he crosses the room in three short strides and kisses Stiles. At first it's clumsy, their teeth clashing together, but soon it softens and Stiles relaxes into it. Scott's lips are soft against his, and Stiles can feel the heat of his whole body against his own.

"I'm so glad I can do that now," Scott says, resting his forehead against Stiles'.

"I'm glad you can do that too," Stiles says. Scott being so close to him is such a novelty. Being able to touch him without worrying is such a fantastic novelty. Stiles reaches down and grabs Scott's ass, just because he can.

Scott snorts.

"We should talk, though," Scott says.

Stiles groans. "But this is much more fun."

Scott presses his lips gently against Stiles', just for a second. It's sweet and it's simple and then Scott steps away and Stiles misses him immediately. He loves that he can allow himself this, now.

"How many people were in on this?" Scott asks.

Stiles bites his lip. "Uh. Four? Maybe Danny, too, I don't know."

"Mahealani?" Scott asks. "Seriously?"

"I had issues with class registration," Stiles says dryly.

Scott laughs. "I knew something wasn't right about that."

"I was terrified when you picked up on that," Stiles admits.

"Should have come clean," Scott says.

Stiles swallows. "Yeah," he says. He can't quite meet Stiles' eyes.

"So five people - six, including you - got together to deceive me. Some of those people are my friends," Scott says.

Stiles shakes his head. "It was all my idea. Lydia just called in a few favors," Stiles says. "They thought it was funny, mostly."

"A joke that could have ruined my career," Scott says. "Do you get that?"

Stiles swallows. "I think they thought you'd never entertain the idea," he tells Scott. "That you were miles out of my league and they could just make fun of me."

"Oh," Scott says quietly. He looks intently at Stiles. "But if you thought that you wouldn't even have tried."

Stiles shrugs. "I was being optimistic."

"But you didn't think about me," Scott says quietly.

"I'm not your student anymore," Stiles says, inching closer to Scott. "I'll drop the class. I'm a PhD student. We even have the same friends."

Scott takes a step back, raising a hand. "I just need a bit of space. I like you - I really like you. But this is messed up, dude."

Stiles grits his teeth. "I can't undo it," he says. "If I could, we'd never have met at all."

"You could have done it like a normal person. Asked Isaac to introduce us, or something."

"Hindsight is 20-20," Stiles says ruefully. He can't quite meet Scott's eyes, his gaze drifting somewhere over his shoulder.

Scott breathes out roughly. "I want to kiss you again, really badly," he says. Stiles drags his eyes back to Scott's face, resting on his lips for just a beat too long. They're plush and pink and Stiles wants to touch them so badly.

"I'm not going to stop you," Stiles says, a half smile on his face. His words are coming out slow and sluggish, like he's forgotten how to speak with Scott in such close proximity. It reminds him of the first class, when he couldn't pay attention at all because he kept getting distracted by Scott.

"We can't just jump from me being your teacher to... this," Scott says.

Stiles frowns. "You weren't my teacher for that long," he says. "And you never graded any of my work."

"I've got to be better at setting boundaries with my students," Scott says. His voice sounds far away, like he's not listening to a word Stiles is saying.

"Scott," Stiles says firmly. "This is on me. I set out to date you. It wasn't normal."

Scott smiles a little at that. "You can't take all of the blame," he says. "I'm the one who marched in here and kissed you."

Stiles licks his lips, a nervous habit he wishes wasn't so ingrained. "We could get back to that," he offers.

Scott's smile spreads. "You have a one track mind," he says.

"I couldn't work in here because I kept getting distracted," Stiles admits. "You were putting me behind on my thesis."

"That's why you got so stressed," Scott says, narrowing his eyes. He waggles his finger in front of Stiles' face. "Should've closed the blinds."

"Erica thought that getting closer to you would make me more focused," Stiles tells him.

Scott grins. "And instead?"

"Instead I'm kissing you in the lab on a Monday afternoon," Stiles says.

He takes a step forward, and this time Scott doesn't inch away. He presses his open mouth against Scott's and feels heat roll in his belly. Scott's lips are soft and his mouth is slick against Stiles', and Stiles can feel a hint of stubble scratching against his chin.

He never wants to let go of Scott, he thinks, as he runs a hand through his hair. Their noses bump, clumsily, and Stiles keeps pressing insistent kisses to Scott's lips, filling the room with soft gasps every time they come up for air.

"This is good," Scott says, taking a breather. "I like this."

"We shouldn't be doing this in the lab," Stiles says. He's a little out of breath, sue him.

"Because you obey all the rules," Scott says, and Stiles smiles.

He takes a step back. "Your hair is a mess."

"Your fault," Scott grins, running a hand through it to smooth it.

"Suits you," Stiles says.

Scott rolls his eyes, and the two of them are interrupted by Lydia knocking on the door frame. Stiles swings around to face her and she's got one hand over her eyes.

"I don't want to know," Lydia says, blocking her own vision. "But this is my lab too, and I need to work."

"You can look," Stiles says.

Lydia drops her hand, assessing the two of them. "You've got stubble burn," she informs Stiles coolly.

"I'll leave you to it," Scott says. His ears are burning red, visible through his mussed up hair, and Stiles wants badly to hold him close again.

"Do you-" Stiles pauses. He's a little humiliated he has to ask this. "Do you want my number?"

Scott turns on his way out the door. "Isaac gave it to me, don't worry."

Stiles sits down heavily in his chair. "Okay," Stiles says, nodding. Scott hesitates in the doorway, before turning around and coming back in.

He makes his way around the desk and leans in close to Stiles. "I'll call you," he says. "I promise."

Then he leans even closer and kisses Stiles again, a feeling Stiles doesn't think he'll ever get tired.

"Still mad?" Stiles asks, Scott's face still only inches from his own.

"A little less," Scott says.

Stiles can't help but admire the view as he leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. I screwed up and posted the wrong chapter.
> 
> But on the bright said, the right chapter is the second to last!
> 
> Actually, this is basically the ending. The next chapter is just some happy scott and stiles vignettes because why not?
> 
> Sorry!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a time jump! This is just some vignettes from their relationship. An ending. As it were.

When Stiles has to stay late to work on his thesis, he's taken to dropping by Scott's classroom before he leaves. He can see when Scott's busy, after all, and Scott learns pretty quickly that if he puts the blinds down Stiles will assume he doesn't want to be interrupted and won't come over.

They're in the pottery classroom and Stiles is sat on Scott's desk, legs wrapped around his waist. They're fully clothed but Stiles wishes they weren't - though Scott has insisted they take it reasonably slowly, and also that nothing happens on campus. He can feel every inch of Scott's torso against him, and his head is thrown back as Scott focuses on sucking a hickey onto his neck.

He'll get shit for this in the morning but right now he really doesn't care. Scott's hair is soft as it runs through his fingers and his mouth is absolutely magic.

And then there's a sharp knock on the door and Scott lurches upward, knocking his head into Stiles' chin. Stiles swears loudly as the door swings open, still sat on Scott's desk.

"Jesus christ," Derek says. "Seriously?"

Stiles can't help it. Scott is still between his legs and he starts giggling helplessly.

"Hi, Derek," Scott says, taking a few steps back. Stiles' shoulders are shaking and without Scott in front of him it's hard to support himself, so he slips off the desk.

Derek gestures between them. "You said nothing happened."

"Turns out, Stiles lied about who he is," Scott says, shooting Stiles a look.

"I'm not an undergrad," Stiles says cheerfully. He knows his cheeks must be bright red but he doesn't care. "I just said I was because I had a crush on Scott."

Derek folds his arms across his chest, face uncompromising.

"He dropped the class," Scott says. "We're dating."

Stiles chooses that moment to pinch Scott ass, receiving a yelp for his efforts. Derek looks unimpressed.

"I'm studying a PhD in biology," Stiles says. "Erica's my supervisor."

Derek frowned. "Erica Reyes? She knew about this?"

"Yeah," Stiles says. "She enjoyed making fun of me."

"Of course she did," Derek says. He glances between the two of them. "At least leave campus, this looks bad, Scott."

Scott lifts a shoulder, but there's a sneaking smile on his face. "Sure, Derek," he says, in a voice that means nothing of the sort.

"Christ," Derek says. "I actually came to ask if you needed a ride home, but I guess you're fine."

Scott's ears are growing pinker, perhaps as the reality of the situation settles in.

"Sorry," Scott says. "You promised you'd start knocking."

"I did knock," Derek says.

"Knock and wait," Stiles advises. "That's the trick."

Scott looks like he's trying not to laugh.

"Christ," Derek says again. "I'll leave you two to it."

He shuts the door behind him, at least, which is a blessing.

Scott and Stiles are both too busy laughing to resume kissing.

-

Scott comes to Stiles' graduation. He doesn't sit by Stiles' dad, because that would be weird and also because Stiles hasn't been all that honest with his dad about the whole fiasco.

He gets his PhD and he wears the cap and he hugs lots of people - Lydia and Erica, mostly, though he's so happy he even gives Isaac a hug.

"Congratulations," Scott says.

"You have to call me Dr Stilinski now," Stiles says. "All of the time. Even in bed."

"I'm not going to do that," Scott says, grinning.

Stiles shrugs. "Fine," he says. "Guess I'll go give this fancy bit of paper back."

He goes to turn away and Scott grabs him by the hand and pulls him back.

"Alright, Dr Stilinski," he says. "Just for today."

"Thanks babe," Stiles says, pressing a kiss to Scott's cheek.

"I bet Cora never puts up with this from Lydia," Scott mutters mutinously.

"Have you met Lydia's ego?"

"My ego?" comes a voice from behind Stiles, and he jumps. Scott hides a grin in his hand.

"Not that it isn't deserved," Stiles says hastily.

Lydia raises her eyebrows. "It's a miracle you managed to graduate at all."

"I'll have you know," Stiles says, "my thesis is excellent."

Lydia rolls her eyes. "You are the most ridiculous person," she tells him.

Stiles grins at her openly, unashamed, and Scott reaches out to tangle their fingers together.

"You wish you had my charm," Stiles says.

"I have no idea how you managed to land this one," Lydia tells him.

Stiles shrugs, and looks at Scott. "He appreciates my charm."

"I was blackmailed into it," Scott tells Lydia. He tries for deadpan but he can't help but laugh.

"He loves me," Stiles tells Lydia confidentially.

Lydia purses her lips. Instead of responding, she hands Stiles a business card. "Get in touch when you decide you miss me."

Stiles nods and smiles and Scott wraps an arm around his waist.

"I can't believe it's over," Stiles says.

Scott smiles. "You're out in the real world now."

"Ugh," Stiles says. "I don't know how you cope."

He's pretty sure Scott's going to help him out with that one, though - stop him from thinking up any more ill-advised schemes and getting either of them into trouble. Erica's still around, though, to keep their lives interesting, and Stiles is pretty sure he and Scott can think up ways to amuse themselves. 

Just no more reckless plans that could get one or other of them fired. Apart from occasionally hooking up in Scott's classroom - that one could get them in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand it's over! Sorry that it was such chaos, and thanks for reading!
> 
> I'm over at tumblr at [argentwolvs](http://argentwolvs.tumblr.com) so come say hi! 
> 
> I'm still working on the olympic fic and I'm slowly brewing another scott/stiles fic too but that won't be ready for posting for a while :) Thanks for sticking with me this whole time, guys. You're all awesome.


End file.
